


In The Space Where Lines Converge

by spoomed (PookyOfBears)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, F/M, Implied Relationships, Introspection, Self-Discovery, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 152,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PookyOfBears/pseuds/spoomed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fine lines exist between the two ends of contradiction. What is the nature of contradiction but the coexistence of separates? Between a Republic SIS agent and the head of Sith Intelligence are spaces where the lines converge. -A collection of related pieces in various shapes and sizes spotlighting the relationship and parallels between Theron Shan and Lana Beniko from SWTOR.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chances By Design

**Author's Notes:** Intended as an ongoing project of short pieces focused on Theron Shan and Lana Beniko. Sparks of inspiration! Outlet for the busy fanficcist's mind! While I have been thoroughly enamored with the idea of a Theron and Lana pairing, any number of these may or may not necessarily fall in with that. It's all going to be more or less experimental on my part (I apologize for any weirdness or nonsensicality that may result from this). All introspective musings or snippets and the like with a focus on these two characters with respect to each other and perhaps also individually. Can and probably will encompass observations of their relationship anywhere from platonic views to your classic slow-burnin' sexual tension and anything in between. _Yowza_ , lol. Anyway, thank you for checking this out, and please enjoy!

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction inspired by and using characters and elements from Star Wars: The Old Republic, creative property of BioWare._

 

This one's an imagining of a possible future encounter between Theron and Lana after the events of Shadow of Revan.

 

** Chances By Design **

 

Narrowly avoiding two blasterbolts, Theron raced down the dim corridor, rounding the next corner turning up. He was desperate to remove himself from the crosshairs of the Imperial sentry hot on his tail, opting for the cover a new corridor might provide. His heartrate began to spike at the realization of the obstruction that lied ahead as it focused into view under the sparse lighting and the strain of creeping exhaustion. 

In his haste, Theron failed to foresee himself bound toward a dead end. Despite his fatal disadvantage, he readied his hand for the blaster at his holster until the boom of a violent thrash from behind stalled him for a fractional second. He'd peered back for a brief glimpse to see that the sentry in pursuit of him had been sent hurtling into the wall of the enclosed corridor by some unseen force. The blow had been fierce enough to knock his pursuer's helm clear from his head, and now he'd lain crumpled to the floor, incapacitated.

Theron did not bother to dawdle with his mysteriously given reprieve. His eyes quickly scanned the intricate inner workings of this industrial passage in search of another escape route. Not a single signal to trace with his cybernetic implants, he stood blind in the heart of enemy grounds. It had not been an unfamiliar hybrid of dread and exhilaration that crept along his cognizance this very moment. Though it remained, as ever, every bit as vivid a sensation as each of its previous incarnations his memory could evoke.

"You need to leave." A voice stirred the perceived stillness of the shadows. A woman's voice. Grave. Unassuming. Abstruse. _Familiar._

And footsteps. Theron did not stir, listening to the tap of each footfall, gauging each progressive inch as it approached. In a trained, singular motion, he drew his blaster and turned to face the stranger. 

_You._

His discerning, cautious gaze remained as still as the arm that held his weapon, now pointed unwaveringly at the heart of its target.

"Don't think you're going to stop me from this mission, Lana," he warned.

Her heavy amber eyes only allowed a shade of her tenacity and her resolve to behold. But he knew well of the other existing colors beneath the amber. It had been the reason for this deliberate meeting, after all. It had been by _her_ design.

Lana's fair, ungloved hand took the barrel of his blaster into her palm, her slender fingers wrapping with care and precision around the cold durasteel. The calmness of her gesture only masked the reticence of her intent. She felt no resistance as she gently pushed the weapon away from her heart, but the action itself required a perceptibly conscious effort against her adversary's steadfast immobility. 

"You need to _leave_ here, Theron," she repeated, her voice absent of any misgivings.

_One_ chance.

Just as easily as he allowed her to disarm the threat he posed with her simple gesture, he found understanding in her unseen colors. As always with this lone Sith, he need not wander far to find them, as much as he deigned to presume otherwise. Their reluctance, their restraint had been a shared sentiment—unspoken, but underscored in every subliminal channel between them.

He drew a breath of unsolicited catharsis. With a burgeoning sense of guileless faith, he returned his blaster to its holster. His eyes peered briefly past her shoulder at the unconscious guard sprawled on the ground further down the corridor.

"Why are you here?" he questioned her. Lana was full of enigma more times than not, and a transparent question toward her purposes may as well be as forbidding as a dare. A Sith compelled to honesty was always a thing of intrigue.

" _Chances_ are not an abounding luxury, Theron."

"And this was one of design, Lana. Not really a _chance_ in that respect, is it?"

"Are you going to waste the time I've permitted you on philosophical semantics?" she quipped in a sardonic drawl, her eyes now flickering with withering patience. "I've never known you to take after the modes of the Jedi." 

Like a goading insult. That would send him off with little further contention.

"You think I'm going to owe you for this?" he challenged her as the sobering reality descended upon his better senses. Ulterior motives were never beyond her, but neither was sincerity. Still, it remained second nature to test her virtues.

"No debts," she plainly answered. "But I hope our constancy remains as true to you as it has for me."

"Nothing like unreciprocated _trust_ , huh, Lana?" He nearly smirked in the residual snideness of his remark.

A passing silence. Old wounds were hard to heal without impurity. Lana would know. _All_ Sith knew. Her own wound—one of a _different_ essence—as well, remained an obscure scar on her own being. Somewhere close to the place Theron's blaster had aimed only moments ago.

Lana raised her chin as her eyes lowered. A subtle trace of her resignation, one that Theron had studied and learned well. "Back down this corridor. Turn right. Fifty yards, and you will find an electrical control panel embedded into the wall's pipelines." Her tone grew barren and quiet. "Use it to your advantage."

As a Jedi would probe his enemy's mind for threads of treachery, Theron's discriminating gaze searched Lana's features for any vestige of subversive intent. Even Sith Lords had tells. It'd been difficult to detect her lies at times, but he'd ably discovered through divine patience that there was no such guarded impediment in her moments of candor.

Like the unseeable shades of ultraviolet and infrared, there'd been something _more_ in her color the eyes couldn't glimpse. A _sensation_. Like the burns the invisible light was capable of inflicting on one's flesh, Theron felt something _more_ permeating deep beneath his skin. But to their shared lament, there was no time to be had to dwell on sparks and glimmers of pathos.

Swiftly, Theron brushed past her without a further word. He commanded his steps softly onward, just as she'd bid. There was a task at hand he needed to complete.

Like a phantom dismissed for an unassuming draft, Lana lingered on with her gaze downcast as he passed her by. Once her heart steeled with purpose, the ghost spoke, her voice unearthed from the grave from which she rose.

"Theron." Her voice held more power than she ever knew.

Drawing to a halt, he directed his gaze over his shoulder back to her.

"If you value your life, you will leave these grounds at once. Leave this world," she urged him once more. Stirring, she turned to meet his gaze. "And _do not_ return. Do you understand?"

Her words were less so a warning than they had been a bid for persuasion. A _plea_. 

Theron's own gaze wavered only momentarily as he weighed her request. Then once again, he turned away from her, departing in silence, leaving the phantom to her befitting solitude.

In the shadows of this space, Lana remained. In the passing minutes, she watched from her dark corner as the commotion passed before her left and right. The sparing lights that dotted the corridors soon flickered shut with the waning whir of the expiring electrical systems. Only the humming red glow of the backup lights were left to illuminate the depths of this underground. Her operatives and sentries swarmed about in search of her intruder, all none the wiser that he'd already been found. Like an invisible ghost, she lingered. So many colors, so many shades—all unseen for the dense and unforgiving shadow that eclipsed her. Such had always been her existence, it seemed.

The groans and twitching of the guard she disabled caught her attention as he roused back to consciousness. She'd been careful with the power exerted against him in her command of the Force. Playing the ever-watchful champion to this underling, she came and lowered herself at his side, picking up his thrown helm from the floor.

"How are you faring?" she asked him with a calming voice, handing him his piece of armor.

Taking the helm, he rubbed his eyes clear of the stars and haze that still clouded his mind and vision. "I... I saw the intruder."

She patiently allowed his bearings to return.

"And..." He strained to recall what had taken place. "I was... I was thrown into the wall," he murmured, his puzzled countenance furrowing in his incomprehension of the events. As the image rushed back into his recollection, he turned his enlightened gaze to her. "I saw his face."

Peering into his eyes, she placed a delicate hand on the man's shoulder. "You saw _no one_."

The ardor that possessed him only seconds ago now drained from him completely as she reached through his gaze and seized him by the mind.

"I...saw no one..." his sunken voice followed. The thought was forcibly compelled into his very consciousness.

Lana rose to her feet, her imperious, hollow gaze burrowing into the unwitting guard. "Resume your duties."

"At once, my Lady," he complied. He moved as a dancing marionette dangling from her wires. Fixing his helm back on, he reclaimed his dropped blaster rifle and departed to rejoin the guard.

These had all been her puppets—all the little pawns and pieces who jostled across her ruling eyes. All under _her_ command—who moved _when_ she directed and _as_ she governed. Unlike most masters, she did not submit them to any mercurial whims or humors. But how _easily_ she exerted her sovereignty over them. It was within the shadows, behind the shroud, where she'd placed herself. The mistress of puppets was never _seen_. 

And yet, even atop the ordained cathedra upon which she now found herself seated, Lana never could expel the disquieting intuition that even the mistress herself was not completely unbound. There certainly were forces unseen that shepherded her movements. Her decisions. Her _heart_.

_Why are you here?_

Theron questioned her flawlessly, and she'd skirted around his query by artful sleight. It seemed only Theron ever held the insight to ask the questions she could find no answers for. She would even swear it had always been well within his intention to do so. 

_I take it that is_ your _design, then, Theron?_

How maddening it grew to be sometimes— _not_ knowing. She'd feared the possibility that the shadows may yet grow to become too dense for even herself to navigate. To be one with the darkness— _yes_.

_But let it not consume you._

Lana considered what this encounter had brought her. What _chance_ this had presented before her. Had she lingered too deep in the dark to even realize it before it'd slipped between her fingers? It would be upon this uncertainty that she would, as always, defer to the wisdom of the Force.

 

 

**(More) Author's Notes:**

Hello, hello! So, in a flurry of a sudden onset (well... _onsets_ ) of inspiration, I've decided to go on a limb and write up and put out all this stuff that's just been milling around in my head. I've been writing so much randomness just for kicks and thought, why not? Let's post some of this stuff, haha! And why Theron/Lana-centric? 'Cause...the hell with canon? I know I can't be the _only_ one who ships the bajeezus out of these two. I was actually kind of shocked by the dearth of even the slightest hint of Theron/Lana-esque writings or art and the like that's available. I mean, I'm not just crazy, right? I felt there was a lot of fabulously understated chemistry between the two characters (as opposed to the somewhat contrived and hilariously cheesy romancing options available for the player with either of them.) 

And I'll admit it—I've become rather infatuated with this pairing and all the potential it brings. Been working nutso over this one ambitious... _behemoth_ of a story that's been in the works since...when the frack did Shadow of Revan get released? Yeah, like probably two months before that. It's been coming along quite well; however, I don't intend to post anything until the bulk of the story has been drafted out. It definitely hasn't been a chapter-by-chapter process, which is why I just can't routinely write and post things as so many fanfic authors are able to do. So...if there are any prospective Theron/Lana fans out there, stay tuned!

Anywho, I've loved the developer's blogs that have been released surrounding a lot of the character back stories and mythos. Seeing the more recent ones about Theron and Lana respectively has just really gotten my writer-itches going. Now, I do want to express that while I've had numerous and ridiculously grandiose story and fanfiction ideas throughout my life, I've rarely, and I mean _rarely_ have ever gotten through the process of writing anything, let alone sharing it. That said, do forgive me if any readers out there have finished this feeling like I've wasted your time... I sincerely, hope that any of you guys will have find _some_ entertainment out of this. That's a win in my book. :)

Apologies...I can be a bit of an ol' windbag. Well, I do hope to post other things in the future. And please leave reviews! I love hearing people's thoughts and ideas! Even a small thing goes such a long way. And please feel free to offer any constructive advice or thoughts you may have. Thank you!


	2. The Unbreakable Threads

** The Unbreakable Threads **

 

"You can sleep if you need to."

Theron nearly jolted at the sound of Lana's voice breaking the cavernous silence. Bogged down by the haze of his fatigue, he rubbed his eyes with a heavy exhale in a bid to ward off the gnawing threat of slumber. He let his head drop back against the cold stone wall he'd been seated against. All SIS agents had undergone long days on assignment deprived of precious sleep. It was the simple, expected reality of the life, but even Theron had his limits. How his companion still managed to remain as sharp in her vigilance as she had been was confounding.

Gathering his wits, he turned his dubious gaze to her, seated at rest on her knees across from him. She was awash in the same cool hue of the night that veiled all else visible to the eyes. If not for the merciful luminescence of the stars and moon, peering through the shroud of night into the humble reaches of their found refuge, Theron would not have discerned the faintest hint of weariness in her countenance then. A doleful reminder that Sith were every bit as mortal as the next man.

Straightening himself against the stone, he let its cold face siphon warmth from his neck and back in hopes of letting its bite sober his senses. "I'm fine," he tersely responded, though he knew he wasn't fooling either of them.

Lana's gaze hung in the air, still as the grave. There were times when she found his abrupt tendencies to be rather perplexing. He would be welcome to pragmatic compromise at all appropriate and opportune moments, being the sound reasonable man that he was. Yet in other instances, the same man would prove to be relentlessly tenacious in his stubbornness. And though he had never shown at all to be a sentimental individual, it became clear to her in short time that bitterness and resentment were familiar company to a man like him. Like the uninvited visitor always too frequent and too long to take leave of its host.

And yet, for all her understanding and all her patience, she always found forgiveness to pardon him this occasional, lingering disdain, so often misdirected toward her whenever she'd unwittingly tread along the horizon of his finite line of sight. In silence, she drew her knees up, encircling her arms around them.

Theron peered over from the corner of his eyes as he spotted her shifting. He watched as her unfocused gaze roamed, watched as she traced a finger through the coarse sediment of sand and dirt dusted along the grounds of this enclave they'd found shelter within, watched as the glimmer of distant nostalgia began to obscure her conscious presence.

Lana's mind recalled familiar walls in her eyes as they wandered along those of this hallowed ruin. She saw familiar vaults overhead. Familiar stone, familiar ground...

Familiar _cold_. How sorely Lana disliked the cold.

Although her eyes gazed upward, her mind was elsewhere, walking along the concourse that meandered through her memories. Old as they had been, they were far from forgotten. Slowly, she shut her eyes.

Never before had Theron seen her wander away so distantly into her own thoughts. He'd seen how pensive, how deeply contemplative and insightful she could be. This was something different. Feeling disinclined to unwittingly disturb her as she was, he rested in his discerning silence outside the boundaries of her reclusive sphere.

Lana's eyes were carried upward as if drawn by some ambiguous, colorless presence. To no one in particular, she began whispering to the air in a murmur. "Peace is a lie, there is only passion..."

The muscles around Theron's eyes stirred as he listened to these elusive words, only faintly recited on a breath. She closed her eyes, appearing as though she were trying to listen for a response he was certain would never come.

"Through passion, I gain strength... Through strength, I gain power..."

Her eyes, now renewed in their regained sight, continued along, drifting and reaching through the hollow expanse all around them in search of _something_. She seemed to be grasping at some gossamer thought hanging overhead, fluttering in the space above her.

Lana's voice dropped to the barest sigh. "Through power, I gain... _victory_..." Once her gaze stopped its aimless sweep across the emptiness spanning the ruined enclave, her voice waned even further, sinking beneath her slightest breath. "Through victory...my chains are broken." Her eyes once again shut, she uttered her closing verse. "The Force shall set me free."

As unfamiliar as this mantra had been to his ears, he was almost certain of their meaning for her. These were a Sith's words. An enchantment. A _hymn_. Theron lingered at the foot of her silence, hesitant even with his very own breaths, suddenly feeling like an interloper encroaching on her private, solitary world. His lips drifted apart with an incomplete question hanging on his tongue.

As though awakening from the oblivion of drifting unconsciousness, her eyes slowly peeled open. The memory unfolded behind her eyes, projected forth to the emptiness of the space she found herself still at the very center of, having never left at all to begin with. With a jaded blink, a distant smile crept across her lips. No mirth colored her countenance then. It had been an empty smile—almost bitter, even. One that had been all too familiar in its essence to Theron.

"When I was an acolyte," she began in a hush of a voice, only a touch beyond a whisper, "I'd undergone my final trial..."

It now became clear she had returned. Indeed, she'd begun to speak toward her companion again. Her eyes stilled at the vacant dark before them. Whatever perceived apparitions that beckoned her senses were now banished away from the corner shadows of her present thoughts.

"...In a place much like this. A _tomb_." She licked her lips as though the memory of thirst upon parched lips came slithering into the reality of this very moment. "I remember," a pause as she searched for the words, "I remember...I, too, was terrified of sleep." Upon this admission, Lana's eyes once again drifted back to find Theron's own. "But we were exhausted. Overwhelmed." Paled by the sinking lamentation set upon by this cold reflection, she drew in a deep inhale, fatigued by the simple memory of it all. "I had never seen so many of my companions die as I had, wandering within the grounds of that tomb."

Theron had taken notice of the grave shift of her bearings, the clear impression this memory had left on her being. He watched as she kneaded her two hands within one another, an unconscious gesture of hers he had never recalled seeing in the long months he'd known her. To imagine—what haunting perils could have befallen Lana, that she'd been left so profoundly imprinted? 

"But we _survived_ ," she spoke candidly. "Only two of us." 

Another pause settled as she followed the threads backwards through her memory. "Of the final group, I was last to sleep. All of us battle-worn, I remained the most able-bodied and thus had been charged to stand vigil first to allow the others to rest. When it came turn for me, I was filled with relief. And _dread_." Closing her eyes, she let out an ironic little laugh. "Afraid that...the remaining few would abandon me. Out of spite. Out of...some misconceived necessity I...hadn't been made privy to..." 

Her smile lingered as she continued, "But in due time, I learned. I understood—no such thing _mattered_ then. Not in that place. Not beneath the looming gaze of Death."

At that moment, Lana realized she wasn't entirely certain of why she felt compelled to share this experience with him. It struck as though some uncanny notion, some extraordinary, coercive impulse had seized her inclinations, urging her voice to articulate the imaginings _still_ sojourned within her conscience. Upon this thought, she also came to realize that she'd shared these very sentiments not _once_ with any other soul. Why that was, she couldn't say. _It had never surfaced._ That had been the obvious excuse. Unquestioned, and therefore, unrevealed. And _undisturbed_. But Death had always been a most sinister, foreboding presence in the farthest reaches of her subconscious being.

"Like our own shadows, Death stalked us, matching our every stride. Set us against all odds to its macabre amusement." Another wry laugh escaped her breath the moment she registered the essence of the words she'd just spoken. "How...poetically _dismal_ it all sounds now," she mused, turning her eyes back to her single companion. The first coat of humor now painted over the dulling grey of her gloom. "But such was the reality we were dealt."

Like a discerning crow, Theron's attentive eyes had not left Lana once as he listened. He remained silent in watchful patience until opportunity ordained it appropriate for him to sound. This had been the first time in all his remembrance that he'd listened to her speak so extensively of herself. Ignorant of her trials and tribulations, he had not considered with much regard how Lana Beniko came to be. _Why_ she'd been the person she was. Admittedly, he'd stood lacking much interest in unveiling the facets of this conundrum. Yet now, upon peering into the faintest embers of Lana's existence, he'd observed a newfound insight, an entirely hidden layer between the folds of the tempered steel forged into her very core.

With her gaze aloft once again while the ideas formulated and reconfigured themselves in her mind, she continued. "I learned something very important that day. _What_ mattered. It wasn't the Code. Nor was it success or victory...or even the Force." Lana elaborated on the spindling thread of thought. "Yes, there had been a task to fulfill. But it hadn't been...delusions of our accomplishment that offered me comfort."

Once again gazing upon her countenance, Theron was brought to ease to find that the light of her unquestionable verity had been reignited. 

"The safety. The refuge...found behind my companions... Our _solidarity_. That had been our deliverance." 

As the remnants of the obscure idea fell into place, Lana slowly uncovered the meaning behind what had compelled her to share all of these innermost thoughts. It had been a response of her conscience—proof of her truth and her fidelity, all embedded in the pieces and shards of herself revealed through these sparks of memory. As she'd come upon the realization of herself and her allies, faced with oblivion in the depths of Tulak Hord's tomb, she'd drawn the connections, pulling at the loose threads between then and the present. With these same threads, the tapestry was woven taut between Theron and herself. It had never stopped weaving, yet only now had the story told in its imagery begun to emerge. More threads. More colors. Then clarity.

The silence between them lingered. Theron hadn't uttered a word in the entire time Lana spoke, but the weighted stillness began to grow heavy in the air. "I'm guessing these trials are something like the what the Jedi have to go through for knighthood..." he murmured idly, turning his gaze in acknowledgement. "Guess I'm glad to know you came out of it just fine." In honesty, he wasn't sure what else to say. 

"No one survives the trials unmarked," she asserted, reminded of the scars she most certainly bore. These were the very same bleak words she'd spoken to one of her companions that day.

Hearing this, a smolder of puzzled curiosity highlighted his gaze. Lana always appeared in perfect shape and health in his eyes. He'd witnessed the most savage battle scars of countless Jedi and Sith alike. Even ordinary soldiers and operatives like himself collected their fair share. He'd been no exception.

Between them, a shared look of comprehension emerged from their unspoken cues. Briefly, Lana averted her eyes before shifting herself where she sat, turning her back to him as she tugged her shawl loose from around her neck.

Theron had been slightly unprepared for what she intended to show. He unconsciously held his breath high in his throat as he watched her pull at her open collar past her right shoulder, drawn into a muted reticence. Her movements had been most demure as she delicately revealed the trace of what he recognized had been a horrific wound, now an uneven scar where it'd healed quite imperfectly.

Lana brought her opposite hand behind her, pointing out the path of the scar that remained duly concealed beneath her clothing. "It extends..." she murmured, trailing the path of the wound diagonally downward, "to right about here." Her finger stopped at a spot close to her waist.

"What happened?" he questioned in a breath.

She briefly peered over her shoulder at him. "K'lor'slugs."

Theron was deeply aware of what it had meant for her to impart unto him this fragment of herself. All lingering shadows of his guarded scrutiny dissipated. In his eyes and to his every understanding of her, he'd known Lana to be a most reliable and resilient warrior, witnessing the extent of her prowess with his own eyes. In spite of whatever daunting uncertainty they crossed, he'd never known her fortitude to falter or yield under any circumstance. Yet in a single execution, this lone remnant of her being came upon him as a sobering reminder of one fundamental certainty shared between them. It had been the set of threads that bound them, setting into permanence their places within the woven tapestry—their undeniable, very vulnerable, very _human_ mortality. Theron took great care to remember this. Against her assumed stoicism, it had been all too easy to forget. Although, Theron observed, masks like these could only be entirely intentional on her part. Whatever perceived strength of Lana's, however willful or resolute, was finite. Quantifiable.

_Never take it for granted._

"For a long time, I...grew a habit of sleeping on my side," Lana mused as she drew the cloth of her collar back over her shoulder, refastening the closures at her neck. A touch of familiar grey humor drew a faint smile to her lips as she turned herself back to Theron. "I was unable to lie on my back during the time the wound required to heal." Tentatively raising her eyes, she peered over at him, his worn countenance seizing her immediate observance. Her own expression diminished upon the realization that her discourse had erroneously only kept him from his much needed sleep. She quickly spoke to correct this, "As I've said, Theron. If you would like to rest—"

"—Why don't you sleep first, Lana?" he gently offered. For all of her concern, it was quite clear to him that she'd lost any and all awareness of just how naked the pall of her own weariness had become. He thought her quite the fool if she'd entertained any idea that she was any better than him at hiding such things. Or...perhaps, he'd simply become that much more adept at reading her. It'd been difficult to tell, especially in the delirium of his exhaustion.

Her thoughts ached to resist his offer, deeply set in her unease, feeling suddenly bare and exposed to have been so effortlessly deciphered. She'd always held an unshakable trust in her own perseverance staring down the face of insurmountable stress. Her breaking point, as it seemed, had not yet been discovered. Though, she feared it may not have been far off from where she now stood, barely balancing on her own feet. It was upon the resounding echoes of her memories within that she'd been promptly reminded that such anxieties were not matters of pertinence at the moment. She'd known that deep down on the most rudimentary level, Theron had only meant the best of intentions by his invitation.

Seeing her hesitation, he gave a brief but assuring nod. "Just lie down. I'll keep watch a little longer."

While her mind urged her to decline, her heavy eyes and aching limbs outcried any lingering doubt adrift in her waning vigilance. As she acquiesced in reluctance, she reached for her shawl on the dusty ground beside her. Shaking it free of the sediment, she wrapped it into a sparse form of cushion before setting it back down. With no bedding or any manner of comfort remotely to be found, she intended to harness what little relief the cloth could offer, laying her head gently against it as she lowered herself to the ground. Lana had lain in worse spaces, reminded once again of the frigid stone floors of Tulak Hord's tomb. 

Before she could close her eyes, they once again drifted toward her peripheral through the darkness, finding Theron's stagnant form still seated against the great wall, blanketed by the chilled radiance of the cosmos far beyond the enclave. She observed how his ethereal gaze drew in the sight of the heavens, straining to find focus on each twinkling light above in a bid to keep himself alert and awake, as though beckoning the stellar forces themselves to sustain him. In this moment, she would almost swear that the limits of his sight had expansively broadened. By what factor, to what degree, she could not ascertain, but there had been a discernible clarity in his dark eyes she was certain she hadn't noted before. Though, she recognized, she did not put it past herself to have simply overlooked what could very well have always been there. Such things were beginning to grow difficult to tell anymore, she observed.

"Theron."

Her voice was always the single strand of thread that seemed to be unbreakably wound around another of his own. Even as others snapped and broke under the strain of knotted entanglement, _this_ one always remained flawlessly intact. A single tug was all it ever took to draw his gaze.

"I..." she whispered in her quiet hesitation. Her eyes meandered before returning to salvage her poise. "...I understand if...you still hold reservations... Toward _me_." Lana's expression was softly lit by her earnest bid to speak forthrightly. "Any misgivings on your part will have been entirely my own doing. I understand that," she gently voiced, revisiting the old matter that had drawn such a rift between them so long ago, one that she knew had never fully mended even following their subsequent cycle of repeated encounters and departures. As her gaze lowered once again, she willed herself to proceed and articulate the sincerest, _most_ difficult assurances from within her heart. "I want you to know that regardless...nothing will displace my faith and trust in _you_. And if—"

"—Lana," he stopped her. It'd become apparent that Theron, too, held a similar thread of his own entwined with hers. He turned his idle attention to her, finding her bare, plainspoken gaze in all its serene patience, coinciding with his own. "Don't worry about it."

For the first time, she could hear that the forgiveness offered had indeed been sincere, however modest the sparse words were. No comfort of any bedding or luxury seemed able to compare with that which she felt now from the simplicity of Theron's affirmation, heralding a faint smile from her as she gently nodded in acknowledgment. With the heavy, enduring weight lifted from her heart, she finally allowed her eyes to shut.

In the brief minutes following, it'd become Theron's turn to tarry his time in the quiet hum of his most pensive thoughts. In contemplation. In reflection. On what had been spoken of. On the peculiar discoveries shared between them. On _her_. Amid his own wandering concourse of the mind, he found himself drawn by the inward trail back to Lana once again—his eyes following its natural strides only to see, to his surprise, that she'd _already_ fallen asleep. It'd been clear she was far more exhausted than she'd let on. With a spark of humor, he noted with fondness how she remained asleep lain on her side. Apparently, the particular habit of hers had never quite been outgrown.

He proceeded to remove his outermost layer. With discreet care, he draped his open jacket over her for warmth. As slumber provided Lana with relative peace and soundness, Theron found the same in watching her as she was. Quite akin to the same sort of peace and soundness one felt watching a child at rest, he mused. 

_Or a lover._

Theron's eased countenance quickly paled at the foreign whisper in the far recesses of his consciousness. How his debilitating fatigue had intoxicated his senses. He owed these stirrings to the haze that had been cast over him, impairing him both physically and mentally. 

_How long has it been?_

The last time he'd watched a woman sleep? 

He banished away the thought once again. He was drifting. It was becoming _dangerous_. He could only draw his lot with fortune at this point, hoping that their refuge remain undiscovered through just this stretch of night. There would be no way for them to survive a fight. Not like this.

Clearing his mind with a calming breath, he would decide for the first time in years to bring himself to meditate. This had been a Jedi practice he'd let go of upon the outbreak of the war following the Treaty's collapse. What had been a routine habit in his daily life since his master's teachings in childhood quickly became another tedium that pulled him away from the insufficiently limited time he already lacked—time needed to undertake assignments and fulfill his missions in service of the Republic. He'd even come to wonder on occasion how the Jedi could possibly find opportune moments for solitary repose amidst war. But again, he would also remember quickly that he was not a Jedi for all of the talents, all the _virtues_ he seemingly lacked. Perhaps that had been one of the many.

In this strange space he found himself cloistered within, in the company of the most improbable companion, Theron embraced the silence and freed his mind. Meditation called for catharsis. He willed it of himself. However, as he soon discovered, too deeply had he become woven into the thick layers of the tapestry. Try as he might, he attempted to loosen and release its weave, but to no avail. The pious followers of the Jedi Order submitted to this compulsory practice to liberate the self from all worldly bonds. Though he had never been a true follower, he'd understood the idea—the _purpose_ behind its presumed necessity. Only by releasing the bonds, by severing each and every last thread, could one fully realize all the permissible possibilities the spirit could envision.

Upon reflection, Theron also came to realize that in a sense, while the Sith embraced a strikingly disparate ideology, they inherently engaged in similar practices. He wondered, then, what permissible things had Lana come to discover in her pursuits? As a Force sensitive, her sight was intrinsically more intuitive than his could ever be. This, he did not deny. He wondered if she herself had long foreseen the threads spun between them that he had only now begun to notice. 

_'Notice'? More like tripping all over._

With the looming clouds of doubt forming above him, sparked by an unexplainable onset of lament, he began recounting the course of the path that had led him to this very space and time. Theron was no Jedi. He had no way of foreseeing what permissible futures lied beyond his line of sight—always, as ever, so infuriatingly finite. He pondered where next the other crossings might be found. When the other interlocked threads might come into focus. He pondered when the next encounter may be—the next moment's reprieve where he and Lana may again, in earnest, _meet_ and _discover_. 

Turning his awakened gaze back to her as she lied unstirring in her total, absent slumber, he wondered what profound, wayfaring thoughts must have been roaming her dreams that very moment. Surely, anything could be permissible within our _dreams_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a second part! I hope you guys enjoyed the read. And yes! I referenced some of the material in _The Final Trial_ , the developer's blog that was released earlier this month about Lana. (If there is anyone who hasn't read it, I highly suggest you do—it's _really_ good!) What drove me nuts for a while was the fact that there had been so little backstory created for her despite being such a great and fascinating character. The silly thing though, is that my whole idea behind the huge, other Theron/Lana story in the works came out of playing around with ideas on fun backstories for her, haha! So...that'll deviate a bit from what BioWare's written up now, I suppose. But hey, the fun of fanfiction, right? Middle finger to canon...'cause we can! (I say this with love. :)
> 
> So, after more ideas percolated and such, it looks like this little collection project thing is taking a slightly less vague form than any original intention I had in mind. Which is...a _good_ thing...? Lol, I don't know. It might end up being a little more coherent. Or it might totally be a completely disjointed, fantastical screw-up. I guess we'll see...? But yeah, after keeping a whole thingie of writing/story notes, it sort of just...ended up taking a form of its own in a way. I think this will start following a very loose suggestion of some sort of chronological/developmental structure, but...I _might_ also be lying—this really is on-the-fly experimental junk, so I honestly can't say for sure.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this comes along in a good way! Yay for creative accidents! Those are always fun. And I kind of foresee slower updates in the next coming parts, which I apologize in advance for. Of course, between day job, sporadic odd jobs, dance practice... _stuff_... (and I'm still working on pulling together that other huge Theron/Lana story I mentioned before, I totally am!), things might just slow a tad. :( Sorrie.
> 
> As always, please feel free to leave comments/reviews of any manner! I appreciate any and all feedback! Thank you!
> 
> I do feel very ingratiated when comments and kudos do come up. Thank you guys who have taken the time to do that so, _so_ much. And a personal thank you to both asexualhawke and Jestana for your kind comments. You don't know how excited I got when I saw them, heehee! Fear not, I surely shall continue onward! :)


	3. Vantage Points

**Author's Notes:** Buckle down, folks...this one's a long one. Like, bordering-on-novella long. Lol, it'd been sort of this amalgam of randomness and situational whatnot that I've had stockpiled in notes...all knitted together and stuff. Hopefully it's not...too sporadic and incoherent? Um...well maybe it'll at least make up for the lengthy update, haha. Hope you enjoy! :)

 

** Vantage Points **

 

There she came breezing into the hotel commons. A lovely thing. Brilliant, flowing copper hair, bright blue eyes, and a flawless, fair complexion. She was on the shorter end of middling in height, but her modest heels and slender build made her appear taller than she was. She was also neither sparse nor shy with her delightful smiles. Though when they did swell across her features, one could also tell in the fine lines around her eyes that she was likely slightly older than she appeared. When she spoke, her voice chirped and sang with such a rare, cheerful candor uncommonly found among the general populace anywhere in the galaxy. Warm and perfectly endearing, she'd been the personification of many things that Lana Beniko was not.

Lana watched as she entered the commons where Theron and all of his colleagues arranged to convene for an evening of simple, cursory recreation. She watched just how her pleasant features came alit the moment she'd spotted Theron and their following exchange of greetings—a great warmhearted hug from her, seconded by a charming little peck on the cheek from him. Something about their pleasantry toward one another brought an unexplainable, disquieting stirring in the pit of her being, though she consciously dismissed it upon remembrance that she'd never truly seen Theron among his own before, beside those _he_ found comfort and familiarity with. His most natural tendencies had been all but a new sight for her in this sense.

"And this would be our guest of honor," Lana heard Theron murmur as he led them over to where she'd patiently stood in wait. "Amy, this is Lana Beniko, Minister of Sith Intelligence."

Offering a most sincere smile, Lana acknowledged her with a nod before holding out her hand to greet the other woman.

"Oh, _wow_." She beamed in seeming astonishment as she gazed at the minister for the very first time. Her moment of brightened surprised soon melted away in another of her already familiar gentle smiles as she reached out and took Lana's hand in her own. "Um...Amy Rohnert," she introduced herself with a slight flutter, "just a run-of-the-mill slicer for SIS," she laughed in a shrug, somewhat humbled by her status. "Lana, I've heard so much about you. It's...it's a pleasure to finally get to meet you."

Flashing the same brimming smile she'd seen the woman greet Theron with, the kindly agent went on to pull her into the very same great embrace as well. "Come here—"

"Oh...!" Lana voiced in surprise, startled by the woman's friendly gesture. Unsure of how to properly respond, she merely gave a rather sheepish smile to herself as she lightly brought her own arms across the woman's shoulders, offering a demure little pat. "Oh, my," she gave a soft little laugh.

"Any friend of Theron's deserves one of these," the agent joked warmly before easing away. Struck by the feeling that she may have come off a bit strong, she lowered her eyes as she shook her head, but her smile never wavered. "Sorry. I don't mean to be...um..." Her words trailed off as she tried to maintain a modest sense of professionalism. "Well, you seem like such an open and friendly person. I couldn't help."

Lana certainly hadn't thought her simple greeting had come off so personable or engaging as the agent appeared to feel, but she supposed it was far more preferable than to have been perceived otherwise. Something about Agent Rohnert's sweet demeanor held an innate ability of drawing out such a particularly cordial response from others, it seemed. Lana, too, was not immune to the effects of her endearing disposition. She smiled at her in polite reassurance. " _No_. No, it's perfectly all right. I just...hadn't expected such a warm welcome."

Agent Rohnert beamed to hear this. "Well, gosh. I mean—wow. You're... _much_ more beautiful than Theron's ever let on," she complimented her with a sweet little laugh, nearly marveling in her residual astonishment from their initial introduction. She appeared genuinely taken both by her appearance and her presentation, as though every expectation she'd held of the Imperial minister had been blown away that very moment. Positively or negatively, it was difficult to truly judge. "Nothing he's described even _remotely_ does you any justice."

"Oh..." Lana blinked, flushing a bit as she'd been completely caught off guard by her praise. "Oh, those are very...flattering words. Thank you. I-I don't quite know what to say..."

Lana took her sweet compliments for what they appeared to be, quite startled by such gracious words from a woman who'd been a relative stranger. Lowering her eyes, she gave a bashful smile and a soft laugh. 

Apparently, this Amy Rohnert had been told of Lana Beniko before. This had been the first instance Lana would learn of Agent Rohnert. In spite of all the woman's sincere warmth, Lana found this realization to be somewhat unsettling. Not out of any concern over what might have been said of her, but rather over the simple fact that Lana had _never_ been told of any of Theron's comrades before. It had never quite struck her until now that he surely must have had a number of familiar colleagues and companions. He'd been a self-declared lone wolf when it came to his working habits, but that certainly never meant that he was lacking in any close friends of his own. In her passing thought, she wondered what else about Theron Shan she still had yet to learn.

"Always gotta be such a kiss-ass, Amy?" Theron uttered in an obvious tease as he gave his brow a little idle scratch. It'd been his harmless retaliation to her own humor in talking him down a bit before Lana.

"Am not—shut up!" she laughed, giving his arm a playful shove. "Does he give _you_ a hard time, too?" she asked Lana.

With an airy laugh at their banter, she smiled with a harmless shrug.

"A 'hard time'? You think you have it bad? I treat _her_ like crap." He turned to Lana with a lighthearted look. "Right, Lana?"

"Well, my theory is—the more he likes you, the worse he treats you. I think all jerks are just like that," Agent Rohnert declared in tandem with his wry humor, rolling her eyes in exaggerated sarcasm.

Lana gave another laugh, nodding more so out of amusement than anything. "It does...explain some things about him, I suppose."

"Well, I'm...I'm really happy to see someone like you here," the agent continued, returning to a more serious note as she regained an air of earnest gratitude. "Someone from the Empire we can work with. I mean—I hope I'm speaking on behalf of SIS...or the entire Republic, really—I am absolutely looking forward to seeing what we can do. And I _know_ we can expect good things to come out of this."

Lana smiled, hoping it would adequately express her appreciation for the agent's hopeful words. "As do I, Agent Rohnert."

"Please—just 'Amy' is fine," she laughed with a dismissive flick of her hand.

And so began this particular evening. Lana Beniko had arrived on Coruscant and had only spoken briefly with SIS Director Marcus Trant prior that very same day. What entailed had been earnest discussions of joint operations and missions between the two powers against the latest looming menace on the galactic horizon.

All the elapsed calamities through the recent months had left their lasting mark, rippling through the scape of the galaxy. It'd seemed the Empire would be plagued by endless factional conflicts emerging from every new affair or crisis thrown into the mix of the conflict, consequently forcing its attentions away from direct hostility with the Republic for the time being. This war had begun to complicate radically over the months, no longer seemingly a simple meeting of two opposites vying for dominance. Although no formal truce had been declared, both the Galactic Republic and the Sith Empire were now left to deal with outbreaks of indiscriminate violence erupting from lingering insurgent entities of numerous, disparate origins. 

As with any inevitability of warfare, these matters had been welling on the fringes longer than any cared to acknowledge. They were merely the result of the long and unforgiving conflict that no longer seemed to embody any true purpose as it had decades ago. It'd been lack of foresight and deliberate neglect that provided fuel for the brushfire. They truly couldn't be blamed on any single source, though it had, in essence, become the fault and responsibility of all. And yet there stood not a single party that would admit any guilt. It'd always been easy for every side to blame the others. Both the Republic and the Empire held to this with one hand while taking reprieve in perfunctory handshakes and mediation with the other.

Neither Lana nor Theron could be certain of what was to be expected in the coming days, but they'd been meticulous in their designs to maintain the bridge already framed between their worlds. Lana's visit was intended to be a diplomatic one, and it'd shown promise thus far. And once it'd been announced that these other visiting agents within the SIS, all found to also be current guests at this particular hotel, had arranged this evening's spontaneous outing within the dining commons, the Sith minister only thought it befitting to take the opportunity presented to become acquainted with those who may come to be her future colleagues. 

And, in truth, Lana desired to satisfy a certain curiosity of her own. The single agent she'd come to cross paths with had grown to become an invaluable companion to her in more ways than one. She hoped to see if all SIS agents possessed the same steadfast spirit and fortitude as Theron Shan had. Would she find in all of the Republic's agents a similar constitution of character shown to be just as reliable, just as genuine, or just as enduring as what she had found in her most constant ally? She'd wondered in her own private musings on numerous occasions whether these had been traits born of Theron's particular upbringing, or of his blood.

It hadn't taken long for the rest of the agents to file in one after the other. The group itself had been rather numerous, although it comprised of many operatives who were not necessarily close acquaintances with all the rest. Lana could discern from observing them that Theron himself had only been particularly familiar with perhaps a handful among those present. She wondered then, who had been the one who arranged for this gathering at all. Though, she also came to note, it very well could have been one of those things that began as a simple outing among friends that'd erupted into an entire social affair once one too many individuals had taken extraneous liberties to expand the invitation. The somewhat peculiar thought that such a phenomenon could still manage to happen among trained agents brought a curious amusement to Lana's mind. Sentient beings were social by nature, she supposed. Although, she'd found herself feeling more so an observer than a participant in this instance.

There'd been a toast. Some agent whose name had been lost to her just as quickly as it was mentioned took the liberty of addressing his cohorts. It'd been during this brief oration when she was introduced to the rest. Lana gave her polite smiles and nods and had been thankful for that agent's penchant for hearing himself speak that she hadn't needed to partake in any of it beyond that. Drinks were tossed about, leading to conversations being floated amongst them. Then came bursts of sporadic laughter and shouting within the passes of nostalgia to be shared. Even amidst the symphony of words and greetings exchanged between guests, Lana could find no form of commonality with a single other person in the whole of that spacious room. All but _one_ , that was. But Theron had himself been rather preoccupied amongst the rest. This was his sojourn, a rare place found in the thick of his own companions, Lana had to remind herself. Let him be left to his delights. They'd been few and far in between, she knew, and she would not wish to deprive of him this rare indulgence in any manner.

Other than Agent Rohnert, there'd been few others who had attempted any real conversation with her in the whole of that evening. Lana had sensed a shroud of reticence cast over most of the agents around her. The peculiar air held no vestiges of anxiety or unease as far as she could tell, but she'd suspected that none of them wished to spoil the camaraderie shared among them all by saying or asking the wrong things. Even so, Lana did not feel particularly bereft of any pleasantry because of it. In her most honest reflections upon the experience, she'd truly been somewhat relieved by the relative lack of words passed along to her.

So Lana's curiosities had been more or less answered to some degree of satisfaction. Not truly, but she'd seen what she intended to see. She'd seen more than she wanted, in all honesty. The Republic agents appeared to be rather pleasant and ordinary in the plainest sense. None so spectacular, none so particularly stalwart. Although it hadn't exactly been the best place to judge, Lana was aware. 

More times than she'd realized, Lana had found herself taking glimpses over toward Theron's corner of the room every so often. There was plenty of laughter to be heard from there, but she wasn't certain any of it had actually come from him. Glancing over the table shared amongst that group, she counted over the number of drinks dotted all over it. More empty cups than filled ones. It was also difficult to tell which belonged to whom. She spotted Agent Rohnert's hand reaching for one finer looking glass, filled with what Lana guessed to be some sort of red wine, quite the marked drink among the sea of beer mugs and shot glasses. Instead of taking a sip herself, she watched as the woman seemed to share an exchange with Theron. She laughed and gestured toward her own drink as he stared dubiously at it. Lana could only guess at what they must have been joking about, and she watched only moments after as Agent Rohnert tilted the glass to his lips to allow him a sip. A moment of pondering passed over him before a gleam of a smile tugged at his features. Her generous swell of laughter then followed.

It hadn't been until after she finally blinked that Lana realized she'd been staring at that table for a longer moment than she cared to give. An exhale reminded her also, that she'd been holding a breath in her throat for almost as long. Inwardly, she nearly flushed when all of this occurred to her, and she finally willed herself to avert her gaze, lowering it only to see that her fingers had kneaded the cloth of her dress to a wrinkled mass between them. She gently released them and straightened her skirt back out. Feeling the faintest burning glow beneath the flesh of her face, she turned her gaze warily over her shoulder at nothing in particular. An impromptu search for prying eyes or something of the sort, perhaps. However, just as she figured immediately after the action, there had certainly been none at all to be found.

"Miss?"

Lana darted her gaze around toward the voice, nearly startled.

It had simply been the barista behind the counter where she'd been sitting. He tilted a curious look toward her. "Would you like something to drink?" he asked her politely.

"Oh," she breathed and gave a small laugh. "Perhaps just a glass of water, please."

"Sure thing." He filled a clean glass from a pitcher of iced water before setting it on the counter for her.

"Thank you."

Lana trailed her fingertips along the beads of perspiration forming along the surface of the clear glass, staring at the colorless object before her. In her lingering pause, she took a dry swallow, a reaction to being in some state between physically arid and mentally fatigued. She conscientiously wrapped her fingers around the cold glass, letting her nerves focus on the sudden shift in temperature within her touch. Taking only the barest sip from this meager, plainly unsatisfying reservoir, her mind came to an accord with a decision in the slowed seconds it'd taken her to set it back down, a decision that had been badgering her like an inaccessible itch for the last hour or so. Rising from her chair, she tugged at her skirt to straighten herself out—a habitual act of propriety of hers when caught in her rare moments of unsolicited ambivalence. In clear, casual strides, her feet led her across the bustling commons toward the blissfully rambunctious table that had drawn her scrutiny in the passing idle time.

"Theron?"

Caught amid some well-humored conversation, he peeled his attentions away from the other guests toward the voice calling him. "Oh, hey Lana. Yeah, what's up?"

In her uncertain hesitation, she first smiled at him. It appeared the other guests at the same table had also paused from their own exchanges, now sitting with their respectful attention turned toward her. "I...thought I'd let you know that I... I'm probably going to go back to—"

"—HEY." The untimely interruption by another of the agents flying over to this table cut her words short. He seemed a rather jaunty character, quite probably a bit influenced by drink now, judging by the manner of his unintended lack of tact. He settled himself between Theron and Agent Rohnert, hovering at their shoulders with his arms blithely thrown around the backs of their chairs. "Guys at the other table are going to play a game. Want in?"

If it hadn't been for Theron's dubious look turned between Lana and his fellow colleague, the man would not have given any notice towards the woman he'd so obliviously overlooked. Even in his slightly drunken bliss, the agent appeared to recognize his friend's familiar expressions well enough without the need for any verbal cues. When he'd finally shifted his attention appropriately, he hovered in an initial pause at being in the presence of a woman he hadn't met yet. He'd been among the few straggling agents who arrived much later than the rest, completely missing the Imperial Minister's introduction at the start of the evening.

"Oh...didn't see you there." He blinked as he straightened himself upright. The man was quick to flash a generous grin to bear all of his partially drunken charm. He stepped over towards her as he offered his hand. "Hi. Jonas Balkar. I don't think we've met..."

Returning his gesture, she shook his hand with a polite smile of her own. "Lana."

She watched as a sense of realization brought a flash of _something_ across his expression in a moment of mildly budding humor.

The agent whipped back around to look at Theron. "This Lana... _Beniko_?" he asked him as he pointed emphatically at her. " _This_ is the girl you were...'stuck' with," he gestured in air quotes with a rather inanely comical sarcasm, "during that Revanite crap?"

"Well. She's not a Wookiee or a droid. What do you think?" Theron's wry glance never faltered in his equally sardonic response.

" _Shan_." Agent Balkar's expression became awash in incredulousness as he threw up his arms.

Still lingering in her quiet bewilderment, Lana wasn't quite sure what to make of this exchange, its entire context completely lost on her. Her growing unease did loosen at last once this strange agent turned back to her with yet another of his overflowing smiles.

"Uh, sorry. My _buddy_ here failed to mention," his hand found its way ruffling through Theron's hair before being slapped away, "just how _lovely_ you are, Miss Beniko." Although his remark had been spoken in lighthearted humor, his little compliment had been quite earnest.

Agent Rohnert swelled with a beaming smile of her own. " _Right_? That's what I said, too," she laughed as she whispered this aloud. She peered over at Lana, who stood rather confounded by the sudden attention. "Oh, Lana... Sorry, we don't mean to sound like a bunch of weirdos or anything," she assured her courteously, laughing a bit at how excessive they must have seemed. "You'd just think he would've mentioned _something_." She turned a tease of a glance to Theron beside her. "That's all."

"Anyway, come on. They're gonna play without us," Agent Balkar reminded them once again in eager haste. "Nice to meet you, Lana," he winked before skittering off back to the other table.

"No more shots. That's all I ask," Theron mumbled as he pushed himself from his seat in a long groan. "Lana, you wanna jump in?" he asked her, absent-minded of her originally interrupted thought she had meant to tell as he extended the invitation to her.

"Yeah, Lana. Why don't you come join us? Come on, it'll be fun," Agent Rohnert followed, warmly encouraging the idea herself.

Despite having had every intention of retiring for the night, Lana gave the invitation a moment's consideration. Seeing the whole of their party brightened in their collective exuberance, ready to partake in the entertainment, she found it increasingly difficult to decline. At last, she relented with a demure smile and a gentle nod. "All right. One game couldn't hurt."

The eager and half-drunken agents pulled their chairs to the large table, squeezing between one another to include themselves in the circle. Agent Rohnert had graciously saved a chair to her left for Lana to take while she once again occupied another right beside Theron. Lana politely thanked her and received the same welcoming smile in response.

"Okay—it's gonna be _Never Have I Ever_ ," the agent who'd made the lengthy toast earlier announced to the table, once again taking the lead for their descent into lighthearted mischief.

The moment he heard this, Theron smeared his hand over his face in exasperation. "Are you guys fucking _serious_? _More_ shots?" he asked aloud, astounded by their consensus. "Okay, every agent at this table is here because we all gotta go see Trant tomorrow. And you guys are _trying_ to get yourselves shit-faced?"

"Whatever. Trant's going to be pissed off anyway 'cause we didn't invite him!" another agent hollered in jest, winning some laughs among the others.

"Nah. I can't. I can't do any more shots," Theron shook his head, waving a hand through the air in his vehement dismissal. A great majority of the table groaned in their begrudging agreement, still seemingly sober enough to see the sense in what he'd just reasoned.

Agent Rohnert's pleasant coaxing followed. "You know, there's a lot of us. Why don't we just play it keeping score? No shots." She then added with a touch of humor, "And...I know it's kind of a buzz-kill, but Theron does have a point."

" _Fine_ ," the agent leading the game sighed. "All right, fingers up—everyone who's in." As he perused around the table at the participants, his expression brightened in pleasant surprise upon spotting Lana seated within the circle as well. "Hey, all right. Minister Beniko's in. You guys play crap like this at Sith Intel, too?"

Lana laughed. "Not particularly..."

"Ah, well you know the rules, right? Simple."

"Yes," she nodded. "Yes, I've played before."

"'Kay, then. Who's got the first one?"

"I got one." Another agent across the table raised his hand. "Never have I ever..." he paused as his wily little glance hovered toward Lana, "...used a lightsaber."

Quick to pick up on his intention, she coyly smiled back at the agent with a look of pretended offense. "Well, that seems hardly fair. Obviously, I'm the only one of us all who uses one."

As though responding to her objection, Theron turned a wry look to her, a seemingly disregarded target of interest in Lana's shadow. He held up his hands to her and emphatically brought down a finger for his own lost point to be shared with hers.

His humored gesture reminded her of the briefly forgotten fact of his early training with the Jedi Order, effectively prompting her to acquiesce as she fell to silence. Pressing her lips thin, she held back a smile as she, too, lowered a finger for her lost point.

"Come on. You _lie_ ," Agent Balkar droned with a dubious glance toward his friend. "You never had a lightsaber."

"No, I didn't. Never had one. Never made one. Doesn't mean I never got to _use_ one."

"Load of crap," he insisted skeptically as he took a sip from his beer bottle before pointing its nose in Theron's direction. "I've seen you with a vibrosword, Shan."

"Never said I was any good at it," Theron retorted with a sarcastic swagger. "You fail Jedi school for only a couple of reasons. You're Force-deaf, or you suck with a lightsaber. My case? All of the above." He gave a nonchalant shrug as he claimed complete license of this fact in his blunt humor. "But I still got to use one."

A slightly tipsier female agent eagerly chimed next. "Okay, okay! I got one—never have I ever," she lowered her voice to a playful whisper, " _killed_ anyone." While her statement had been made in light of the game's entertainment, it'd been an understood fact that most of the agents present were field operatives of some manner. She watched as each of the participants, one by one, lowered their fingers for this round. Had she been slightly less drunk, the agent likely would have reconsidered the use of her turn as she'd inadvertently taken a point from herself as well.

Agent Rohnert shared a playful look with the only person at the table other than herself who hadn't yet lost a point. He'd been a junior agent, a mere analyst who hadn't seen a day of field duty at SIS. "Wow, I...don't know how I should be feeling..." she laughed with a sheepish little smile.

"Wait—really, Amy?" another agent asked her, surprised by this revelation of her.

"I'm just a...poor little slicer," she reasoned with a shrug, grinning bashfully. "I mean, I've been on the field before, and I've done all the self-defense training. But I've...never so much as fired a blaster at _anyone_."

Agent Balkar remarked in passing. "Eh, consider yourself lucky. Not exactly something glamorous to look forward to."

"Some skills have their uses."

The stark comment drew the eyes of many at the table toward the agent who voiced this, including Lana's. There'd been something in the breeziness of his mannerism that was especially perturbing. Her back straightened against her chair as her gaze lingered on this man, who appeared, by contrast, the perfectly poised and clean-cut gentleman from where he sat. If there had been anything most notably bewildering about him, it was the appearance of his disarming smile, almost mocking in its suspicious charisma.

"Can I have the next one?" he asked innocuously.

"Go for it," the leading agent shrugged.

Lana watched as the man's eyes subsequently sought hers across the table. His sudden and still gaze sent an unsettling pulse beneath the surface of her skin. She doubted that it had even taken her Force's intuition to decisively affirm her immediate dislike of this man.

"Never have I ever... _murdered_ someone," he spoke in an lofty parody of a jest, his ingratiating smile still adorning his features. Everything about his demeanor had spoken to—had been meant _entirely_ for the single Sith present in the whole of that room.

Puzzled by his choice of words for the round, the leading agent furrowed his brow. "Wait. Isn't that just the same thing?" he questioned him cynically.

"Well, no. 'Killed someone' can be anything—manslaughter, freak accident... Or maybe you ran into a bunch of hostiles on a mission," he shrugged, defining the terms in perfect nonchalance. " _Murder_ is pretty specific."

The other agent's expression remained unconvincingly dry. "Well then, why the fuck would anyone even admit to that?"

"You never know," he mused in his own brand of darkened humor, turning his gaze back to the woman of interest across the table from him.

Lana soon noticed as all the other sets of eyes slowly shifted over toward her, collectively following this agent's lead. All save for one person's, that was. 

In his silence, Theron sat, glaring back at this other man with the total absence of any amusement in his idiotic little game, in full acknowledgement of what his tasteless intentions were.

Lana raised her chin with a stately grace, answering this man's challenge. " _Oh_. I see—so the statement was meant for _me_ ," she spoke with a forced air of lightened humor. "Well, agent, I hate to disappoint you, but _no_. I have never murdered anyone in my life."

"I don't know." He appeared to relish in his own mordant inclinations. "Who's to say she isn't lying? She's a Sith, after all."

"Why would I lie? This is just a silly game."

"Well, I know how much Sith _hate_ to lose." Despite having meant to be clever in his tease, a number of the others had begun to grow uneasy by his relentless pursuit of this subject.

Before Lana could say more, Theron promptly intervened, quick to put a stop to this. "Hey, come on. Drop it already—it's just a fucking game," he spoke tersely. "She's not lying, okay? Just get to the next one already." 

While the others breathed their relief in accordance with his suggestion, a lingering glance remained between him and the other agent. Theron could read all of the man's condescension clearly through the smug shade of his countenance. He watched as his lips curled to a faint smile of thinly veiled disdain before the man looked away.

Although relieved by Theron's voice in diffusing the situation, Lana still felt as though she'd now been placed in an undesired, uninviting position. The waves of tension and insecurity had already left their imprints, an indelible disturbance in the air, and she had not been keen to see what other winding turns this evening may yet take.

"Actually...Theron," she tentatively spoke up. "Everyone. Um, thank you for inviting me to play. But I think... I think perhaps you all may enjoy the game a bit more without me."

Agent Rohnert frowned in disappointment hearing her say this. "Lana, no..."

"No, Amy. It's quite all right," Lana assured her with a cordial smile as she rose from her chair. "I understand. And it's much more fun when no one needs to skirt around any...sensitive issues or...some manner of political correctness," she gently laughed. "I don't want to hamper on your amusement. Thank you, agents." Lana graciously excused herself, and with a respectful bow of the head, she left the table.

Lana stalled no time in taking her leave of the commons after dismissing herself. While her immediate objective had been to simply return to her room, she'd taken her steps in composed, even strides. The corridor leading out of the commons joined the main hall that led to the lobby where the lifts had been located. Aimlessly, her eyes were drawn to the floor at her feet as they traced this direct path. She'd only counted so many steps before the unresolved feeling weighing down on her heart drew her to a slowed halt in the middle of this hall. 

It had been difficult to articulate. This feeling, this strange, ghostly impression that seemed to compel her along just enough to begin in one direction, but never enough to lead her to any destination. She _didn't_ want to return to her room just yet. She no longer felt the need to linger, but there was no one place Lana felt she needed or _wanted_ to go. With a sigh, she lifted her eyes from the floor to the space all around her. The few others whom she watched passing through this space moved to and fro with purpose, and Lana had once again felt like the unseen phantom, shadowed from sight at the center of it all. A strange, privileged vantage point this had been—one she was quite unsure had any true profit to her.

To her right, her gaze loomed, where the fully windowed facade of the building opened one's view to the sight of the rest of the world beyond. It surprised Lana to see that this view had not been completely obstructed by the sea of towers and domes of the Coruscanti cityscape. It had been just the right viewpoint on the ground level to see all the elements of the world in one small vignette. Peering out to an open boulevard, one could glimpse through the rest of this quarter just beyond the Senate District, where the higher end of city life lied. Vanishing toward the horizon was the point where the expanse of the darkened night sky kissed the terrestrial, perpetually lit edifices in a faint, humming glow. If one focused enough, the traces of stars even further beyond this world's boundaries could still be spotted against the darkest patches of the cosmos overhead.

It was uncanny, how many qualities this world shared with her own—with that of Dromund Kaas, the one perceived to be its polar opposite in every way. On the grounds of Kaas City, Lana's sight of the heavens was ever shadowed by the constant overcast between earth and sky—beautiful in its own merits, but unyielding as the world itself beyond the walls of the capital. As on Coruscant, her view had been overwhelmed by the affluence of artificial lights among which she presently found herself eclipsed by. 

In these quiet, lone minutes, Lana drifted over to a seating arrangement along the windows, perching herself on a single chair as her eyes gathered in all the sight for her mind's contemplation. How the unfixed views and traversing outlooks have shifted and uprooted her understanding, her very paradigm of the world. In the past mere months, she'd come to realize just how precarious all of the shared space, all the meeting points and boundaries had been. There existed no permanence in any of these elements, which, she understood, had all been things defined by _people_ , not by nature. By such merits alone, there stood no reason for the impossibility of coexistence. In the end, all of this was still the same. The same world, the same things that every set of eyes saw. The present simplicity witnessed before her own had been proof enough of this.

Let nothing disturb her peace, she mused to herself. Solitude had been ever the faithful companion to her in times like this. It had been the only companion who kept promises, never failing her expectations. Although, Lana could not deny, there were some things Solitude simply could not fulfill. In the recent months, she realized more and more how its comforts began to fall short. There had always been _something_ it could offer, but she supposed that had been its inevitable tradeoff. It had come to simply cease being enough anymore.

"Didn't think to find you hanging around out here by yourself."

The sudden voice sounded familiar, drawing Lana's attention as she peered over her shoulder to see who it was. She was blatantly surprised to see the very same agent who'd caused such a stir earlier during their little game. Seeing the hall empty of any lingering presence save for the occasional passerby, she hadn't been entirely pleased to find herself presently alone with this man.

"Oh, hello," she gave her simple greeting and a barest accompanying smile. She'd made an effort to be polite, but little more.

The man was himself rather well-dressed and well-kept. He had little of the SIS agents' commonly preferred casual bearings. One might even think him a mere analyst or office employee from his appearance, but Lana was strongly convinced that was not the case with this particular agent. Approaching her, seemingly at his own invitation, he propped himself down against the armrest of the chair adjacent to where she sat. He no longer appeared to bear the incendiary temperament from before, but his charming flash of a smile looked no different now as it had then. Lana could read his intent no better than she could Theron's, a testament to how well-trained the SIS agents were. But she knew instinctively that she needed no assistance the Force could offer to sense his guarded obscurity. Lana had determined within this single evening that all of the agents she'd become acquainted with, while varied in their ranges of receptiveness, had been all but sincere toward her. This man, the single notable exception, was simply too calculating in his every mannerism to be entirely genuine.

So, the SIS had agents of _this_ sort under employ as well, it seemed. The Minister of Sith Intelligence was certain he must have been a high-performing agent. He was the first of the evening to have struck any marked interest in her, but in no manner of ways she had intended in the least. And, as if it were the most appropriate irony to bring this night to completion, it would appear that she'd drawn this agent's intrigue as well.

"I was just kidding back there, you know," he assured her with a shrug. "Giving you a hard time. Call it hazing."

She offered a bit of a laugh to politely humor him. "Just like Agent Shan, are you? Do SIS operatives make a habit of teasing one another so?"

He then gave a generous laugh in response to her quip. "Depends. By the way, never got a chance to formally introduce myself." He presented his hand to her. "SIS Agent Aram Mezzaluna."

Lana nodded as she shook his hand, immediately taken by how strong his grip was. "My. That's a very...firm hand you have, there..."

Her remark prompted him to release his hold. "Sorry," he laughed gently, peering down at his palm. "I'm a field op. So used to the hold of a blaster or...vibroweapons," he mused, "I suppose I have to remind myself to adjust for a woman's hand." His eyes glazed over at her own much smaller ones. "I wouldn't think hands that are used to gripping a lightsaber would be so delicate," he commented with a cool smile.

The agent's observation prompted her to glance at her own palms momentarily before impulsively curling her fingers closed. While she was certain he meant only to lightly tease her, she found no comfort in his jest. Feeling ill at ease, she withdrew her hands into one another in a small gesture, maintaining as much of her natural grace as she could. Her composed courtesy returned with her civil smile. 

" _Mezzaluna_. That's quite a name."

He laughed and responded with a beaming grin of his own. "You know what a mezzaluna is?" he asked her, meaning to share the trivia behind his namesake.

Lana gently shook her head.

"It's a...type of knife with a curved blade." He held his hands apart in the air, trying to define its shape and size. "Usually used in cooking, though. Not a weapon."

Her response had been a nod of the simplest level of attentive interest. Without any further words she wished to share with him, Lana fell silent. While she wanted nothing more than for this agent to be on his way to enjoy the rest of his night, she was plagued by uncertainty over the most tactful means of urging him to go. She intended to be entirely gracious in her impressions to be made in the heart of this foreign half of the galaxy, to represent the best wills of the Empire to sound perfection. And, as the Force would have it, this man _would_ be the one placed before her to test her resolve. 

"Hey, uh..." The agent lowered his eyes as he entertained a thought. "You know, I don't want to...leave this off on a bad start. Mind if I buy you a drink?" he offered, displaying all the superficial charisma he commanded in his complimentary smile.

Taken by his invitation, Lana's expression completely blanched. She didn't quite foresee his sudden advances, and most certainly hadn't welcomed them in the least. She now found herself stuck in quite the conundrum. While she had seen enough of this man to believe that all of his seeming friendliness and charm were not at all a truthful glimpse into his character, she'd also felt the reluctance in directly dismissing him. The politics of interrelationships were a cryptic and tiresome thing to contend with at times, and Lana had felt the pressures of it more and more ever since her ascension to the seat of her ministry.

"Agent Mezzaluna..." she addressed him stiffly.

"'Aram.'"

Hearing his prompt, her gaze warily rose to meet his. She pressed her lips together as she considered her words carefully. "I...don't really... I don't feel quite in the mood for any beverages this evening. Thank you for the offer." Her response was slow and deliberate, meaning to expressly decline his invitation while maintaining her courtesies.

"Fair enough. How about another evening?"

The welling tension within her began to creep upward along her spine as she lowered her eyes. She managed a gentle, but distinct shake of the head. "Thank you."

"Not even for a _little_ drink?" he continued in his persistence. "Come on."

"No," Lana declined once more, her voice gaining in her firm resolve as her patience dwindled. "No, thank you, agent."

In the slightest evidence of his displeasure, his jaw set as he grew rigid in composure. In spite of the swelling, ingratiating smile that had never left his face, Lana read these subtleties more clearly than any flattering cajolery he spoke.

"If you don't mind terribly," she began with a renewed air of frankness, "I did come out here with the intention of finding a moment of solitude." 

Lana's discerning eyes lingered on him, watchful of his every nuance. She needed and expected no further response, no further exchange. But as her gaze remained, the more it appeared that the agent may yet require further clarification as to what her explicit request had been. She watched as he parted his lips, prepared to say more, until another voice's abrupt interruption stayed his words.

"Hey. Something...going on out here?"

"Just talking to the Minister, Shan," he replied with a derisive edge, directing his eyes away with a faintly displeased smile.

As Theron came approaching from the adjoining corridor, he briefly shared a look with Lana, immediately reading the depth of relief in her subdued countenance.

"Yeah? She seemed to give you a pretty clear response to whatever you just said," he curtly pointed out. "How many times does she have to say 'no' before you get a hint?" 

Only having encountered the man a handful of times in his career, Theron never once considered himself an acquaintance of Aram Mezzaluna's. But Agent Mezzaluna was one of those men whose reputation well preceded himself. He'd recognized the man's intentions since he first opened his mouth, and he'd known that all the words that had come from it over the course of that night were not meant to do anything except provoke. Theron knew Lana was far wiser than to react in any reckless or brazen manner even against his harassment, but he knew the agent was well aware of his far-reaching limits with a _Sith_ in the heart of the Republic.

"Why don't you piss the fuck off, Mezzaluna?" he said to him in the most frigid manner of bluntness while hardly even raising his volume.

The agent merely flashed him a coy, smug little grin, masking his clear displeasure in a casual shrug. "Since you asked so nicely...sure. Whatever you say, Shan." He pushed himself upright, off from the armrest he'd been sitting against. "Always gotta be so _territorial_ , huh?" he sneered intently at him before returning his glance back to Lana. "Hope to see you again, Minister Beniko. Hope there aren't any hard feelings." 

Lana lowered her eyes slowly as she gave a curt shake of the head.

Giving a single nod of a bow toward her in what outwardly appeared to be a respectful gesture, he turned away, heading down the corridor back toward the commons. 

Theron's vigilant gaze never left the man's back until he was out of sight. "Sorry about that."

Lana released a faint breath of relief before softly answering him. "Nothing for you to apologize for, Theron."

"Guy's an absolute shit-starter," he murmured as he slowly turned to her. "Just...watch out around him, okay?"

With the slightest nod, she rose from the chair. "Theron, I... I think I shall be retiring to my room for the night. Please send your colleagues my regards." She'd meant to do so almost an entire hour ago, and she'd come close to regretting not having done so were it not for the courtesy Theron would extend to her that very moment.

"I'll walk you back."

Lana paused with the first glimmer of an earnest smile that entire evening. "Are you concerned for me, Theron?" A hint of humor transformed her countenance, coloring her expression in shades not yet seen during the whole of that night. "You know I'm perfectly capable of caring for myself."

"Well, yeah." His gained a quirk in his own expression as he shifted his eyes aside in thought. "I'm not worried about _you_. I know you'd Force-push Mezzaluna's ass through a window if he really started pushing those buttons," he joked, though he believed in this very probable scenario in earnest. "But that's the thing—we're on Coruscant, you're Sith Intelligence, _he's_ SIS. You... _can't_ kick his ass."

She raised her gaze, almost smirking in sheer amusement of the very idea as though it were some cleverly veiled dare of his. "I have a bit more self-restraint than you seem to _think_ , Theron."

"You probably do," he aptly acknowledged. He then nodded in the direction toward the lobby where the lifts were. "I'm _still_ going to walk you back to your room."

They proceeded on in relative silence down the hall to the lobby. It'd taken only seconds for the lift to arrive on the bottom floor. Theron waited for Lana to step in first before following. Ever minding his courtesies, he intended to ask her which floor they were bound for, only to watch as she swiftly beat him to it, reaching across him to press the appropriate button herself. Her action prompted the doors to close before them, shutting out the atmospheric hum of all the world's busy movements on the other side. The lift began its ascent.

Lana stood to his right, her eyes staring downward before being drawn towards the only other person who shared that small space. She watched as Theron took a great breath, relaxing himself visibly as he released it. Whether he'd done so out of anxiousness or weariness, she couldn't quite tell. Turning her eyes forward again, she'd hung on a passing thought for a moment before breaching the silence.

"Gallant as your intentions may be, you don't have to consign yourself to an usher's tedium, Theron," she murmured in a dull drone of humor before turning a momentary glance toward him. "I don't need an escort. You may return to the company of your comrades if you like."

He groaned lightly in jest. "Eh. I'm sick of 'em." Another break of silence came as he drew in another breath. "Actually, I was on my way back to my room...when I passed by you and that jack-off."

His sardonic reference of the other agent brought a minor spasm of a laugh to her, but she'd been quick to collect herself. Lana never felt it quite appropriate to take too much amusement at the expense of others, no matter how deserving.

Theron pretended not to notice, though he couldn't help but smile at this. Inwardly, he mused over his initial assumptions of her when they'd originally met—that, as with every other Sith Lord he'd encountered before her, Lana Beniko must doubtlessly have been irascible, dour, and devoid of any humor. Within short time, to his rather amusing surprise, Lana had proven to be quite gracious, even engaging, and had most certainly held a witty, although somewhat subdued, sense of humor. 

The best of this certain curiosity had to have been his first discovery of how much of a mischief-maker she secretly had actually been. He'd always thought it a bit lamentable that she'd imposed unto herself the kind of controlled inhibitions so characteristic of her habits. Although gradually, Theron had come to observe the levies cracking bit by bit over the months he'd known her. She'd gained a sense of natural comfort around him, it seemed—sequentially by such small degrees that he may not have even noticed himself, had it not been for his periodic routine of thoughtful contemplation. He'd effectively given up on meditating anymore. But he kept his rare, private moments for himself when they came, and he used them sparingly.

Theron steered his gaze to his side, coinciding with Lana's as she'd done the very same. "No harm in a little detour," he shrugged.

Lana had been completely oblivious of the lift's slow deceleration to a halt. Her focused gaze had only become disrupted when the gliding metal doors opened with a mild hiss and a rush of air.

Theron nodded ahead as he ushered her with a gentle press of the hand along her back. "Lead the way, Beniko."

For the remainder of the distance, they continued almost side by side, with Theron being sure to keep Lana half a pace ahead of him so he could shadow her steps. His gaze wandered idly along the line of passing doors as they walked along, practically identical in spacing, geometry, and color as those found on his own floor. It was a curious thing, he pondered, how the most spectacular of Coruscant's high-rises that drew the eyes and wonder of all onlookers were, by contrast, so monotonous and banal on the inside where it'd logically mattered most. This hotel, like much of the Republic capital, had been relatively luxurious, but almost aridly so. In its comforts, there hadn't been much warmth to be found. Amid its compact quarters and spaces, one felt little unity or intimacy among the numbers. Certainly, things happened—things _moved_ in this city, this world. But it was difficult to conceive that any individual part that made up its living, breathing composition truly _participated_ among the rest. It'd been an uncanny, lingering distaste he'd held, some indefinable sense of dissatisfaction that Theron had always seemed to hold with this world. He could never quite place it, but it'd kept him from ever truly embracing this place—Coruscant—as any _true_ home. It had been the place of his residence, and that had just about been the extent of it.

"Arrived, at last..." Lana breathed as she slipped her keycard through the door's terminal, prompting it to slide open after its lock disengaged. She turned to Theron behind her. "Well. Thank you for seeing me _safely_ to my room. The Empire is indebted to your valor, Agent Shan," she serenaded in her artful wit.

"All in a day's work."

Lana gave a gentle laugh. "I suppose I shall see you tomorrow, then?"

"Uh...actually," he chewed on his lower lip as he rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh, "would you...mind at all if I...sat around for a bit?" he asked her unsurely. "Just feeling a little light in the head still. Honestly, I hoped walking all that way would help, but..."

Lana was mildly surprised to hear this request, but she wouldn't deny him a brief rest if he needed it. "Oh... Of course, Theron. Come inside," she welcomed without hesitation as she hovered at her door.

"Ah. Thanks."

Just as he followed her in, he immediately shuffled on toward her bed and plopped face-first into its cushioned folds. As Lana busied herself setting down her belongings, she was startled by the muffle of the deep, comical groan that came after. Blinking in her swell of laughter, she looked over at him in sheer amusement from where she stood, lingering at the closet by the entrance. 

"Theron?"

With his arms spread open and his legs still dangling over the length of the bed, he pushed himself over onto his back. "Ugh. I think I had a few more than I should've..." he grumbled.

Realizing the cause behind his request, Lana laughed again. "Oh..." she hummed as she pulled a chair from the small desk nearby closer toward the bed to sit. "So it isn't _me_ who lacks self-restraint."

"Those _assholes_..." he muttered on under his breath. " _Fucking Jonas_." Brushing both hands across his face, he tried once again to shake it all off as he pushed himself to sit upright along the edge of the bed. "Sorry, I'm fine. Just gotta let it pass." He leaned forward, resting his elbows along his knees. "Hope you don't mind me sticking around like this."

"Not at all." Lana smiled. "I didn't expect it, but some company is rather nice at the moment."

Theron looked up at her, catching sight of the radiance in her current countenance that seemed curiously far more elusive that day than usual. "You know, you haven't really smiled the entire evening."

His comment brought her to a pause as she gave a moment's superficial consideration. "I've smiled," she countered, almost a retort to his sudden observation. She was certain she had, as she'd made every conscious effort to be attentive of her courtesies and considerations throughout the night.

"Well, yeah. Your little...polite smiles and stuff. But not like _that_."

Flushing just a bit, she lowered her eyes with a breath of a laugh. "Well perhaps, then, it's...simply a matter of present company. As I've said."

"Flattering to hear. More fun when I'm tipsy, huh?" he quipped with a faint laugh of his own. "Thanks, by the way." 

Lana's look shifted curiously. "For what?"

"For...you know. Trying." The earnest manner of his tone had been all but revealing of his apparent observance of her bearings throughout the night. "For making an effort."

To Theron, her voluntary decision to accompany him had been a gesture in of itself. She didn't have to, and neither was she compelled to do so. But he'd known that she would not forego this opportunity to establish some familiarity with the other agents she would doubtlessly find herself working beside in some near future. 

Lana's expression paled to a rather faint look. Realizing that he had been observant enough of the subtle manners of her comportment to say this, a tinge of concern began bubbling toward the surface from within as she worried if he may have read more into her than she was willing to acknowledge. The tidal swells of self-consciousness washed down on her like an overflow, threatening to tear down the rest of what remained of her levies.

"I know it's not really a familiar crowd to you. But it was really nice—what you did."

"I...hardly did a thing," she uttered aloud against her numbing reticence. "I barely even spoke a word to much of anyone."

"You _came_. And it was good, you know? For the other guys to meet you. Meet who they're working with." His humor visibly returned as he gave a mirthful little grin. "And now they _know_ that the Minister of Sith Intelligence, that _Lana Beniko_ isn't some...scary, sullen, stick-in-the-butt Sith Lord," he laughed. "Now they can believe me."

Upon his mention of this, Lana's mind was brought floating over yet another thought. "So...you _have_ spoken of me to your comrades?" she inquired tentatively, as it appeared they'd all seemed to recognize her in every detail, short of her actual appearance.

"Hey, I was stuck with you for what—three months?" he threw his arms up in a shrug. "While all of SIS thought I was a rogue agent who murdered a colonel and ran off with some Sith."

"That's rather dramatic," she remarked bleakly.

"You can see how the subject would come up in conversation with those guys."

"Undoubtedly." She blithely nodded as the quaint little smile returned to her lips.

Theron narrowed his eyes at her in prying curiosity. "You must've got _your_ circle of idiots asking you stupid shit, too."

"I hold a seat of ministry," she reminded him with pretended vanity. "How would you imagine _your_ director socializing among a group like yours?"

While Theron did recognize the sense in the point she suggested, he continued to tease. "Yeah, well Trant's a bit more of a...skirt-chaser, so I don't quite see the comparison you're trying to make, there..."

Lana laughed at his wry quip. "You mean to say _I'm_ not a charmer?"

"Trant's got _two_ exes and a crap ton of alimony. You tell me."

She shook her head in a mix of mild surprise and amusement. "Director Trant had been married? I wasn't aware." 

Like an ember reigniting the hearth, her lingering thoughts trailed back full circle to the matters she'd strived with such effort to leave behind. She sat with her gaze gradually downcast. The idea had not fully reformed into words quite yet, so she milled over what was currently pertinent, with only a subconscious hope that it would be enough of a diversion to steer her away and beyond the question she'd intended to circumvent.

"I never quite imagined it would be probable...for individuals in... _our_ line of work to ever maintain any sort of relationship like that."

"Well, the guy _was_ divorced. _Twice_."

Her gaze rose once again. "But he loved his wives enough to marry them." Her fair expression shone with a respectful appreciation at the very notion of this. "And I can't imagine that your director would be a man of poor, impulsive judgment. I am certain SIS would not be in its current state if he were," she jested in light humor. "Separated or not...the affection and devotion must have existed at one time."

Theron let his scrutinizing eyes linger on her as she spoke of this. He seemed caught somewhere between curious and perplexed hearing this sort of talk coming from Lana. Although, he mused, they never did sit down for a real conversation about life and its mundane norms and habits before. It shouldn't have struck him as odd, but it _had_ somewhat—to hear and have his affirmation that people were people, whether they were of the Republic or the Empire. He flashed a tease of a smile.

"Never pegged you for much of a romantic, Beniko."

Lana blinked, momentarily thrown by his jest. "What? No, I..." She paused and laughed gently in slight embarrassment. "I honestly hadn't known. Hadn't... _thought_..." her words trailed off as the intermittent stirrings began taking root in her thoughts once again. "Truth be told..."

Theron narrowed his eyes at her seemingly unintelligible strands of words, but he remained patient as he permitted her a moment to gather her thoughts. She seemed quite distracted, though he'd noted this already since entering the lift with her from the lobby. Folding his hands together, he let his gaze drop toward the floor without any particular focus.

It'd become unavoidable now, it seemed. Lana's mouth once again felt the familiar dryness as it had when she'd been sitting alone by the bar in the commons earlier that night. But this time, Theron wasn't seated an entire comfortable distance across the room from her, with his attentions found about in every direction other than towards her own small corner. There was no crowd, no moving world to obscure herself behind in this limited space. Theron was _here_. Present. And with her. She couldn't pretend to be a ghost anymore.

"...May I ask you a question?" Lana willed herself to inquire.

Theron clasped his hands together as he smiled in amusement. "You just did," he remarked in a light jest. Releasing a breath of clarity, he pushed himself backwards to lie back down against the mattress, lacing his hands behind his head. "But you can ask another one."

Lana's eyes drew forward over toward the man now lying on her bed. "I couldn't help but notice..." Her subdued countenance faced him in full, unseen from where he'd lain. "...How close you appear to be...with Agent Rohnert."

There was a brief pause before Theron spoke. "Yeah? What about her?"

"I suppose what I mean to ask isn't... _purely_ about her." Gripped by such incomprehensible unease, she nearly jolted at the sound of Theron's quaint, unexpected laugh. 

"Lana—what's the question?"

Sounding in what seemed to be a blend of a sigh and laughter, she paused to gather herself back together from her most unusual bout of momentary discombobulation. "It's just..." she began hesitantly with near-obsessive scrutiny over the words she was to select. "I thought it rather astonishing to only now learn of her, someone who seems to be such a close friend of yours. You've never mentioned her before."

Theron elevated his head just enough to glance at her. "Well, it's not like you've ever talked about your personal acquaintances either," he pointed out shrewdly.

The reason for that had been an uncomplicated one—Lana had none of any intimately marked importance to speak of. But this was not something she cared to detail at the moment. Lana's eyes drifted aside in consideration. 

"Since we'd been on the subject—the matter of...relationships. And _work_."

_Articulate_ was among Theron's choice vocabulary believed to quite faithfully define Lana Beniko. But as he listened on, he couldn't help but note the somewhat comical irony of her difficulty trying to articulate her present curiosity. He'd pretty much figured what matter she was alluding to by now and casually pushed himself off from his back to sit upright once again. He raised his expectant gaze to her in hopes that it'd impel her to simply say what she'd meant to say. 

Theron's subsequent, burgeoning smile went unnoticed as Lana's eyes flickered away the moment they'd met his own—a heartbeat's response that appeared as natural as the breaths she took. But as ever, he easily spotted the light wash of trepidation that seemed to color her pallor, just a hair too guarded to be passed as subtle. At least, for the Lana Beniko he knew.

"Would I be wrong to surmise that..." she began haltingly, "that Agent Rohnert is more than just a good friend?"

If it were not for her uncharacteristic modes undertaken upon inquiring this simple thing, Lana's assumed, quietly aloof demeanor as she spoke may well have ably disguised her innermost solicitude.

"You mean—'Is Amy Rohnert my _girlfriend_.'" Theron's emphasis came as a definitive statement rather than a question, hardly fooled.

Once again, her uncertain gaze drifted until it met his. Like the perfect composite ends of a whole—Lana's image bore a portrait of absolute candor, while the caricature of Theron's own was washed in saturation by farce and mischief. Their eyes lingered, both waiting just on the threads of their own tentative silence as though expecting the other to speak first. With all the collective words scarcely hanging on a breath, it had been Lana who uttered them first. 

"So," she nearly mumbled, "you've _never_..."

" _Amy_?" Theron questioned, hardly able to hold back a laugh. "Lana... Amy's married."

Drawing a blank look, the unexpected suddenness of this revelation brought her to a standstill. Just as her mind found its inner workings catching and stalling upon itself, not a single nerve ending within her seemed to respond or stir in the slightest beneath her skin, now seemingly formed to be even more brittle and transparent than the most delicate sheet of glass. The color of her burgeoning embarrassment began to glow at her cheeks when realizing how baseless her unwelcome and unidentifiable disquietude had been since the earliest hours of that evening.

"Is she...?" Lana uttered with a whisper of surprise.

Theron grinned as he shrugged. "Well, she doesn't wear her ring 'cause of...you know, practical work stuff."

"Oh," she voiced in a sigh and a nod. With deep consideration, she found herself filling with inward relief, letting a generous smile light her features once again. "Well, her... Her husband must adore her," she laughed. "She's very sweet."

Another layer shaded Theron's already brimming smile. " _Wife_."

"What?" she asked, her confusion resurfacing.

"She has a _wife_."

It took a brief moment before the realization of his correction dawned on her completely. " _Oh_ ," she voiced in a partial gasp, "Oh... I-I didn't even think..." Shutting her eyes as she collected herself from this rare bout of ungainliness, Lana released a breath of a laugh. "I'm sorry. I don't know—I've...been so presumptuous of things lately. Thoughtlessly so. And I...don't quite know why."

Theron's look of insurmountable amusement had never waned in all this. "It's okay." He shook his head dismissively. "She's used to a lot of guys hovering all over her. It's like a bunch of bugs around a zapper," he laughed. "And you know?" Theron continued with a renewed look of delighted mischief. "Sometimes, for shits and giggles, she'll actually start fucking with some of them. That's always a good show."

"Is that so?" Lana laughed, somehow finding it a bit hard to believe, having seen how gracious Agent Rohnert had appeared to be.

"Like with Jonas— _whoo_. The first time Amy met him. That was a good one," he snickered to himself at the memory. "But it's only funny when you get him drunk and ask _him_ to tell you about it." 

Catching Lana's eyes as he looked back to her, he spoke in afterthought. "You know. Different perspectives," he shrugged in his lingering humor. "Different vantage points."

The unintentional aptness of his musings brought her to a pause as she let her gaze meander without focus. "Like night and day," she murmured in concurrence.

"Yeah. But it's all still the same sky," Theron remarked lightly in partial jest.

Drawn by his words, her eyes returned to his in yet another shared moment of pause. "I suppose it is, isn't it?"

Shifting, Theron tried to straighten himself up a bit as he scooted farther back onto the mattress. "By the way—sorry for...the lack of an 'off' button. I tend to... _not_ be able to shut up the more drink I've gotten. _Thank you, Balkar_ ," he grumbled under a breath, suddenly conscious of how talkative he'd generally been throughout the night. Recalling how C2D4's incessant chattering eventually exhausted even Lana's rather bountiful store of patience in the past, Theron grew watchful of treading along the same volume of excessiveness. 

"So, feel free to tell me to shut up if you need to," he laughed, "I won't get too offended. And even if I do, I probably won't really remember tomorrow anyway. So get your shots in while you can."

"I'm certain that if you had crossed that threshold, you wouldn't have the cognitive sense to be questioning the extent of your own intoxication," Lana commented jokingly.

Pretending to ponder on her reasoning, he gave a dubious nod. "You've got a point. Guess you're not really drunk if you _think_ you're drunk."

Another beat came between them as their shared laughter faded into silence. Theron watched as Lana's gaze wandered once again. He never quite noticed this habit of hers when she seemed to withdraw into her private little world. It'd almost been akin to watching someone space out for a moment, though he knew she had an uncanny way of being quite present even amid her contemplative spells. Surely, another question appeared to be welling within her kindling thoughts.

"A _curiosity_ , Theron."

_And there it is. Of course._

"About Agent Rohnert. She..." Lana paused, her eyes still downcast in the middle of a thought, "She is quite a kind lady, isn't she? Such a lovely demeanor. And that embrace," she laughed. "She has a rather... _warm_ disposition."

"Yeah, she gives everyone a huge hug. That's just Amy."

Theron could detect her edging along on the verge of a thought she hadn't yet verbalized, but he couldn't tell just what she was aiming to say. His expression began to turn, growing bewildered in his uncertainty over what to expect.

"She was just being really nice. She thought you were kind of pretty. So she was being... _really_ nice," he explained with a hint of humor. "But she wasn't... _flirting_...or anything." His assurance came haltingly, as he remained unsure of her pondering thoughts.

"What? Oh, _no_. No, I wasn't getting at that at all. I simply..." She sighed as she found herself once again faced with difficulty in articulating her feelings. "I suppose... Sometimes, I rather envy people like that."

"Yeah?" Theron shifted his gaze, growing curious of such a peculiar thing to hear her say.

Peering back at him, Lana's look softened. "Natural kindness is...uncommon. It's a difficult thing to manufacture. It _shouldn't_ be," she began to explain. "Manufactured—I mean. Genuine kindness isn't...'calculated' kindness. It shouldn't be forced."

To her mild annoyance, Lana paused in a bid to reorganize her frustratingly befuddled words. "Um, I suppose I mean to say that not enough people are like Agent Rohnert. Those like her are... They're a blessing to us all as a whole. Truly."

Continuing to listen to her thoughts, Theron's gaze grew sedate. "You don't think you're a kind person, Lana?" he asked her in a quiet tone, questioning the very meaning behind her reason for bringing this up. It'd been as though the merits of her own character he'd come to know had been of no regard.

As her attention reeled back toward his own, her countenance grew lachrymose upon another, _deeper_ consideration. "The things people like us must contend with... There is little advantage in being too kind," she spoke with the merest taste of bitterness. 

The thought had itself seeded from a reality she'd never quite come to complete terms with. One she'd rarely ever voiced beyond her own privacy. But as all happenings appeared to coincide at just the right convergence points, Lana felt compelled to speak of her surfacing inner dissonance. And what safer place had there been to do so than _this_ , she surmised.

Genuinely uncertain of what had been an appropriate thing to say, Theron decidedly voiced no response. Of all people, he had been more than aware of what sort of person Lana truly was. Her kindness had stopped becoming a question long ago for him, and he'd been duly surprised that she gave this aspect of herself such little credence. 

Lana then gently shook her head, her voice waning even further. "And I am not. I have done numerous things that any being of compassion would weep to know." A faintly embittered smile followed. "And Agent Rohnert has never so much as harmed another soul." She looked to her companion. "I am not kind, Theron."

Time and again, whether it'd been deliberate or not, he had witnessed her prove the very opposite. That she indeed held boundless and unimaginable compassion and grace in spite of the identities and labels that, at best, only ambiguously defined her. These had all been external things, he now realized, all projected and imposed onto her by the world. By everything everywhere else that was outside of and beyond her own conception. Theron himself was hardly guiltless of the same prejudice. But here she was, without inhibitions or expectations to adhere to. Here, she need not be anything other than who she was, as he himself had seen many times already. Of all the definitive words she had ever spoken, none were ever so poignant as those he had just heard her speak then.

"Being kind doesn't mean you have to be a saint, Lana." His assurance came with a layer of candor that was more delicate than what was usual of him. Their glances leveled. He eased into a smile, then released a breath of a laugh. "I disagree with you. If that means anything."

The merest softness of light returned to her countenance as she spoke in her gently returning humor. "We never quite see eye to eye, do we?"

"That's not always a bad thing either."

Finally sounding a faint hint of laughter, Lana closed her eyes and smiled once again. It'd been a quaint and inward response, but it was not insincere. Never with Theron.

"A curiosity," Lana revisited her originally intended question. Her lips parted as she rifled through her mind to find the most befitting way of presenting her passing musings. "Consider...what you'd mentioned to me of Director Trant. Of Amy Rohnert." Her astute eyes returned with a flash of mirth. "Suppose _you_ had a chance at marriage. At...starting a family. Having a life like that." Lana was brimming now. "Would you consider it? Would it be something you'd... _entertain_ ," she laughed with emphasis, certain that this was hardly a thought that occupied him even in his most solitary moments, "...sometime later in your life?"

Staring down at his folded hands, Theron paused, just slightly caught off guard by her question. It'd clearly been a playful little thought, but he took the moment to seriously consider it. He pursed his lips unsurely. "I...don't know." With a simple shrug, he laughed. "I guess I never... Never really imagined myself ever... _having_ one, you know? A wife. Considering the work."

If Theron had the mind to elaborate, he would have meant to say that he'd never quite expected to live a long or sound enough life to justify letting someone become involved with him like that.

Nowhere near lacking in her warm amusement, Lana smiled patiently. "A game, then. Let us imagine," she suggested with a playful flair. "Suppose...there was no conflict—no war, no troubles to be bothered by." Upon this comforting fiction, she lowered her eyes in brief reflection.

"Agent Rohnert is...lovely. Sweet. Entirely gracious and thoughtful. An all-around wonderful woman," Lana recounted. Despite what she had only just learned of her, the observation remained that Theron had responded in earnest warmth to his friend's innate qualities. Lana herself had admittedly been quite swept by her good graces. 

"Would you consider someone _like_ her? To be an ideal wife?" She presented this question with her eyes averted and a whimsical little grin.

"You just listed the most general and _obvious_ stuff any guy could want in a girl," he commented wryly. Glimpsing her momentary reservation, he'd meant to tease her just a bit.

Picking up her gaze, she spotted the sardonic humor in his look and laughed.

"I mean...yeah. Amy's nice," he shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it's just having all the fucked up spy work screwing with the way you perceive things," a lingering air of laughter broke between his words, "but Amy's a little... _too_ nice, you know? She's sweet—don't get me wrong. And I'm not saying I'd prefer that...'mysterious' or 'dangerous' cliché crap.

"A 17-year-old punk kid hopped up on hormones—yeah, you might be into those types of girls. But when you're 27 and have had enough blasterbolts and vibroblades flying and swinging at your face as is...? You're kind of over that crazy shit."

His quick-witted banter brought a swell of laughter to Lana.

Returning to a subdued breath of seriousness, he continued in consideration. "I suppose I'd...wanna date someone who was a bit more... _subtle_ , you know?"

Lana's eyes gleamed with a suggestive glance. " _Courtship_?" 

"What?"

"You mentioned 'dating'—courtship."

Theron turned a questioning look to her. "Yeah. I mean...that's what we're talking about, right?"

"I asked about the ideal spouse, permissible only by the imagination, for incorrigible individuals such as ourselves," she joked in grim humor. "But now that it's been said... Somehow, I seem to find it difficult to imagine you courting a woman," she smirked at the very idea as it formed in her imaginings.

"Wait—what?" he nearly snorted in his responsive laughter.

"Well, you just don't seem very... _romancing_..." Lana shrugged nonchalantly. While she'd meant to tease him, there was some honesty in her veiled remark.

" _Excuse me_?" Theron's look now widened in his mild stupor. "I cannot believe I'm hearing this from a _Sith_."

Lana raised her glance with a coy grin. "I-I simply... _cannot_ imagine you—at all—behaving in any intimate manner." She spoke candidly, filling her remark entirely with her lighthearted humor. "I've had months of exposure to your habits and conventions, Theron," she wryly reminded him. "An observation."

" _Seriously_. I'm being told by a _Sith_ that I don't have game..." he murmured to himself in disbelief.

In a bid to withhold a burst of laughter, Lana pressed her lips tightly together. "All right, then—how _would_ you go about romancing a woman?" she dared him after she'd collected herself. Rising from where she sat, she came forward closer towards him, dragging the chair along behind her. Situating herself only a mere pace from Theron, she prepared herself to listen to what he had to say. "Humor me."

Now wearing a look of incredulousness at her challenge, he narrowed his eyes dubiously at her. Theron's lack of response only served to feed her triumphant amusement. 

"Are you...the kind of man who redundantly purchases extravagantly _useless_ trinkets for her? Or...would you sweet-talk her with flowered compliments you don't mean, waxing poetic until she is smothered by the overwhelming, _insipid_ excess?"

Taken by the stark ease and clarity of her suggestions, Theron couldn't avoid wondering what Lana's own experiences could possibly have entailed.

In her trailing pause, the spark of humor in her gaze remained alight as she peered at him with her standing dare. Her lips parted with a most delicate smile. "...Would you kiss her?" Lana asked in a lowered hush. "Surely, you've kissed someone before."

Flashing a puzzled little grin as though it were the strangest thing to be asked, he sardonically voiced his response at last. " _Yeah_. I have."

Lana's little dare now shifted in its color, her curiosity beginning to tread deeper beneath the surface of their exchange. "So how, then, would you go about _that_?"

Lingering on their shared gaze, Theron picked up on her unvoiced cues, no less distinct than any other she'd ever previously imparted. He narrowed his eyes with a mere hint of skepticism. "You said...'humor me.' Right?"

She raised her glance in patient expectation of what brilliant jest would come from him then.

"Well," Theron settled deeper into the mattress where he sat. "First. There's dinner. Of course."

"Formal?"

After only a brief consideration, he grimaced. "Nah. A _nice_ place, yeah. But formal's always too stuffy for anyone to really enjoy."

Lana smiled with interest, leaning forward in her chair. "What sort of meal?"

Pressing his lips together, he pondered on it. "That depends. My mood. Hers." A certainty illuminated his expression as he steered a glance back to her. " _Definitely_ a bit of wine."

"What kind?"

"I like red."

"I prefer white myself." Lana gave a subtle little smile. "Sweeter."

Their gaze lingered a moment longer before his humor returned. "Well, she's going to have to tell me if she wants white, 'cause I'm going to order red. I'm paying for dinner, by the way."

She responded with an expression of pretended astonishment as though impressed to hear his unprompted chivalry.

"Unless she _really_ insists. I'm not going to stop her."

Another whirl of laughter.

"And then... We're back at... _someone's_ place. Maybe mine—"

" _Hers_ ," Lana suggested in a hush, meaning to dictate some element in this little fiction.

"...Hers." Theron matched her elusive smile as he shifted himself closer along the edge of the mattress once again.

"So we kind of...hang out in her room. Talking about stupid stuff." Returning to his relaxed posture, he leaned forward with his forearms along his knees as he had before. "Then some more interesting stuff."

As though it were the most natural response to Theron's diminishing volume, Lana unconsciously mimicked him, inching closer toward the edge of her own seat.

Noticing her stir in his peripheral, he directed his eyes back toward her. "...And then back to the sort of stupid stuff."

While she gave her delighted, airy laugh, Theron watched how the corners of her lips curled in their delicate manner whenever she did so. He very nearly seemed to memorize the most precise nuances of her facial movements by now. He wondered at the moment if she'd done the same with him. Doing so hadn't been a voluntary effort, at least not on his part. Just the small details brief glimpses always seemed to capture before committing to memory. It'd been upon his conscious awareness of this that he also came to realize how easily he'd grown able to decipher her in the absence of words. With every decoded signal, every translated cue, every unraveled puzzle, Lana had become less of an enigma to him. Along the interpretations came the _understanding_ of all the things that revealed them to be so much more alike than he ever thought to realize. 

"Then...somewhere along the way..." Pausing, he licked his lips as he released his entwined fingers from one another. "...At _some_ point," he peered directly into her own gaze, "I'll notice something about her."

With her eyes magnetically held where they'd met his, she hadn't even noticed when he'd taken her hand into his own. 

"And that's your entire design?" she whispered curiously.

"Well. There'll have to be some...big gesture." In the swiftest motion, he pulled her by the hand, drawing her forward and from her chair. Before she stumbled into him, he caught her, deftly setting her down along the length of the bed.

His sudden and playful maneuver had completely swept her in an abrupt surprise. "Oh, _my_ ," she nearly gasped in gentle laughter as he lowered her, hovering at her side.

"You know—for dramatic effect," he joked, shrugging.

Impressed by his commitment to this entire farce, Lana was brimming with amusement.

"You've got the most beautiful smile, by the way."

His comment brought her to a flushing pause. It was in this moment when she realized their close proximity to each other. Her hands lay at his shoulder and arm, an impulsive reaction to physically nearly falling over just then. His own—chastely held at her knees and back where he'd leveraged her onto the mattress.

"You know, that's...that's what I'd say."

Lana released a breath in laughter, averting her eyes with a slight tinge of embarrassment as his words donned on her. She peered back to him once again, her comical delight returning with her tame smile.

"...But you _do_."

Theron had only partially meant to tease her with his playful misleadings. But once these words voiced themselves, he found they'd been absent of any humor he'd intended. The moment had drawn itself out longer than it truly was. Mere seconds was all it ever came to be, was all it ever took for moments to shift. He watched as the humor, too, began to slip from Lana's countenance when she seemed to read this from his own. He felt her fingers loosen where they'd entwined in the folds of his sleeve and collar. Though the rest of her, where his hands could feel, had grown tense as if to bear the growing weight of this present moment.

Like the most gradual shifts beneath the terrestrial surface of any earthen world, like the most fluid and natural trails of wind currents and tides of water, like the forged fires born from the cores of the stellar titans themselves, this moment passed as if drawn by the very same cosmic forces that shepherded the movements of the universe beyond their private space. In a single shift, it all closed in around them, drew them ever closer, ever nearer.

As with all natural forces, there'd been no definite way to tell which precise movement had prompted the other. It'd been an amalgamation, the confluence of many elements, many causes and reasons that led them. 

A gentle stroke of the palm, guided by impulse. By _imperative_. 

And just as instantaneously, the moment passed with the cosmic shifts. It'd been brief—the moment when their lips came together. It was an innocent kiss, even somewhat sloppy in its spontaneous essence. And _sweet_ was the ephemeral taste that lingered. Sweetness and alcohol.

Theron could feel Lana's composure stiffen in his hands, enough to prompt him to respond. To stop and ease away. He'd sensed something amiss and paused to try and read the seeming misgivings in her countenance, unsettled by the sinking intuition that he may have done something wrong.

Her eyes remained shut even after she'd felt him stop. She swallowed before licking her lips. The taste of alcohol had been _far_ more potent than she'd been prepared for. Enough to cast the heaviest cloud of doubt and stinging lament over the entirety of her being. She smiled in spite of herself as she opened her eyes with a renewed breath. 

"Just, um..." she uttered in a whispered sigh. "...Just how drunk _are_ you, Theron?"

Lana's question, however inoffensive and blameless it had been, struck him at his core. He felt lucid. He was certain of it. But now, he couldn't banish away the hazy pall that had never quite left his senses since following Lana to her room. How such doubt could erupt from a single, simple, _stupid_ question. How poorly he'd erred, he felt. Apologetic, he gave an airy laugh quite in spite of himself and uttered a rattled response even he couldn't place any certainty in. "...Pretty."

" _Fuck_... I'm sorry," he sighed, shaking his head as he pushed himself away from her and climbed off from the bed. He quickly straightened himself out with a deep, sobering breath. "I don't, uh... I don't know what the fuck I..." he mumbled, stumbling over his own faltering self-assurance.

Lana remained where she'd lain on the bed, her eyes averted unassumingly. "It's all right," she spoke softly, hovering her fingers over her lips.

"You know, I'll just, uh..." He searched for the clock in the room to note the hour it now was. "It's pretty late in the evening. I'll just—I'll walk it off." Theron drew in another long breath. "Sorry. You were just gonna go to sleep, right? I shouldn't keep you."

Nodding, she offered the most reassuring smile she could bear to give. "You should get some sleep, too, Theron."

Inching backward towards the door by then, he murmured back to her, "Yeah. Yeah, I will." As he slipped through into the hall, he peered back to her one last time. "Night, Lana."

Her eyes remained at her door even in the moments after it'd slid shut upon Theron's departure. She waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps once they'd taken him far enough down the hall and back to the lifts. When they had finally drifted out of earshot, she closed her eyes, releasing the withheld breath deep in her lungs.

Lana's fingers never left her lips, even as she averted herself from the door, turning to face the window that expanded the length of the wall to her left. Reaching over to the console beside her bed, she pressed the switch to shut off all the lights in the room, allowing the gentle hum of the world beyond peer through to wash over her in its sobering, intermediate comfort—one she knew had been all but false and artificial in the most illusive sense. Regardless, this was what Lana required this very moment. False security, false comfort. Anything to distract and fool her mind. To quell her heart.

_A night's rest. Just a night's rest, now._

Filling herself with another consoling breath, Lana willed her eyes shut.

_Almighty Force—let there be no dreams tonight. None, please. Not tonight._

 

* * *

 

_Idiot._

Theron made his way down the hall from his room toward the lifts, heading to the ground level. It'd been the earliest hours of the morning when he'd awakened, just before it got to be too bustling within the commons below.

_You fucking idiot._

He stared disdainfully at his blurred reflection in the lift's metal doors as it descended. His eyes peered over at the buttons with a looming thought. Lana's room was located many floors below, well in between his own and the ground level.

_Don't even._

His fingertips stirred at his side as he contemplated the idea. A simple push of the button. That was all it took.

_If it was really a fuck-up, why didn't she push you away? Or hell, she probably would've even punched you._

Theron had no means of quelling this exasperating argument he'd begun with himself since the previous night. He'd done just as he'd said and wandered the floors of the hotel for hours on end after leaving Lana's room. He reconsidered and recounted all of their words, all of their entire exchange from last night. It'd become infuriating to be so doubtful, so uncertain of anything his mind could recall, almost convinced that the warping influence of any drink he'd had may well have distorted his perceptions. He simply couldn't be sure.

_No_ , Theron reasoned against himself. _She wouldn't have._ Lana was far too considerate, far too permissive to do something like that. She was _kind_. 

His eyes peered at the floor indicator above the lift's console, noting that he'd long passed Lana's by now. A relief to see, he admitted.

_She asked you how **drunk** you were, dumbass. _

Theron recalled what he'd said to her. Caught in the most artless, unwelcome juncture, he couldn't think of anything other than to feign obliviousness, answering accordingly. He'd only told her a partial truth—he was rather dazed, yes. But he'd been lucid enough to know he was far from _drunk_. There was enough clarity to be certain of his own words and actions, but he held no such faith in any perception he'd retained of Lana or her vocabulary, spoken or otherwise.

As he exited the lift into the lobby, he passed by the receptionists' front desk on his way toward the commons, a bit busier at this hour than it had been in the evening.

"...We're sorry to see you end your stay a bit early, Miss Beniko."

Picking up on the fragment of this conversation, Theron's attention turned.

Lana smiled lamentably to the receptionist, shaking her head. "I apologize. A slight adjustment to the itinerary, it seems."

"Understandable. One moment while I retrieve the paperwork," the woman replied before stepping away from the desk.

"Lana?"

She turned, hearing the familiar voice. "Oh. Good morning, Theron," she greeted him with a warm, but notably subdued smile. She was surprised by this encounter, inwardly hoping to depart promptly before any of the agents awakened. Upon reflection, Lana hadn't been entirely surprised to see that Theron had already risen from bed even at this early hour.

"I didn't think you were leaving for a few more weeks, at least," he remarked tentatively, seeing her fully dressed with her single valise in tow.

"No. No, I've um...simply transferred to different hotel. Another one a bit closer to the embassy," she explained, lowering her eyes briefly before turning them back to him with a smile. "Save myself some transit if I can simply walk."

"Oh," he blinked, slightly bewildered by the suddenness of the change. Theron couldn't help but suspect there had been more compelling reasons to justify the haste of the transfer, but he wouldn't question her about them. "Well, um. You wanna...stay a bit before you go? Join us for breakfast? Jonas. Amy. A few of the other agents you met."

Lana's expression lingered on a melancholic note, but she'd made great effort to appear as casual and natural in her graces as she could manage. Her subsequent smile was laden in regret. "I should go. Perhaps another time."

"Yeah. Next time, then," Theron nodded with a polite smile of his own.

"But thank you."

"All right, Miss Beniko. Looks like everything is in order. You've made sure you have all of your belongings?" the receptionist addressed her after returning.

Turning to the woman, she nodded graciously. "Yes, I have. Thank you."

"All right. You're good to go. We do hope to see you again."

Nodding her acknowledgements to the receptionist, she took the extending handle of her valise into her grasp. "Well, in any case... I suppose I will see you around, Theron."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll see you, Lana."

"Please do send my regards to the others." She smiled sweetly before proceeding to leave.

Theron had meant to find a proper moment to speak with her, spending much of these early hours considering how to best do so. Uncertain of where she'd stood regarding what he'd felt had been a careless indiscretion on his part, he'd intended to clear the air between them, whatever the case may be. 

"Hey, Lana?" he called to her, watching as she turned away.

Like clockwork, his voice instantly halted her steps. She was slow to glance back his way, appearing almost reluctant in doing so.

Once her gaze met his, Theron found himself at a momentary loss. 

_About last night..._

The words formed in his mind, but they simply couldn't be forced from the breath held in his lungs.

Awaiting his response, she inquisitively turned her gaze. "Yes, Theron?" she uttered in a barest voice, as if sharing his reticence.

Parting his lips in silence, he finally blinked before gently shaking his head, allowing the very thought drift away into the air above him. "Um... _Fuck_ ," he laughed. "One of those moments. Forgot what I was going to say."

His absent-minded quip prompted a smile from Lana. "Have our adventures begun to age you prematurely, there?" she jested, laughing.

"First you tell me I've got no game, and now you're calling me old. Sith humor. Got it." Theron nodded in his sarcasm and gave a faint laugh. "Sorry. Didn't mean to keep you. I guess I'll, uh...catch you later sometime, then."

"Don't you always?" Lana responded in her familiar, charming wit and matching smile. She'd meant nothing short of absolute faith in his unfaltering reliability by this smile. However, it would be that this time, she also intended for it to hide something else beneath its surface, only able to hope that the mask had been sufficient enough in letting her elude Theron's better senses. She could no longer ever be so sure about her ability to do so anymore. Not with him.

With this final farewell of the day, Lana took her leave. As Theron watched her go, wheeling her valise behind as it tailed her strides toward the exit, he knew he would see her again, that her departure was hardly permanent, as she'd mentioned. In spite of this, watching her leave filled him with such a feeling of finality that he couldn't quite place. Theron never recalled the weight of this feeling bearing down on him when he'd seen her go on Yavin 4, or any subsequent departures between them for that matter. 

He recounted the entire previous evening to mind once again, noting every moment imaginable where things could very well have gone differently, taken a different course, trailed a different path. It'd become more obvious now, just how amiss the entire night had gone, as opposed to what it _could_ have been. If Lana preferred to make no mention of the faltered evening again, just as she'd unerringly avoided entirely then, he would respect her intentions accordingly. Theron had truly been relieved to elude the matter, although he couldn't pretend to be blind to the shadow of disappointment cast in its wake. 

Passing down the hall toward the commons, Theron came to a pause, his attentions drawn to the chairs he remembered spotting Lana sitting alone at before they'd gone back to her room. He paced over toward them, closer to the magnificent windows they faced. In this early hour of the morning, the sky was only barely beginning to light in the distance. This particular spot allowed a view of the horizon where the sky remained in its cool blue and lavender hues, still relatively untouched by the warm rays of the rising sun on its opposite end. Easing himself onto the armrest of the chair she had occupied, he let his eyes trace over every inch framed in this view. 

Theron knew that if Lana had been sitting in this very spot, she would surely have turned her eyes out upon the world visible from here. He peered out at the sight, down the open boulevard, across the skyline and over the hazy silhouettes of the cityscape into the distance. He glimpsed into the open cosmos even beyond this and wondered what Lana's eyes had seen, what they'd been looking at the night before. He wondered if they'd searched and found anything new, anything _different_ from what his own saw now. Knowing how much better her sight would always be with the aid of the senses inaccessible by those like himself, he wondered, if ever, he could someday see what Lana saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...so. Ya made it to the end? Haha... A long ride there, but I hope you guys enjoyed it. I never quite intended for a part with as much of a word count as this one, but it sort of just happened...I think from taking a longer time before finalizing ideas and just having too many freaking ideas altogether, lol. There was a bit of a struggle trying to keep things somewhat in a flow, and I hope it sort of came through. Gets a little hard to judge even in the revision process when you've been staring at the damn thing for weeks on end. And _ooh_...writing a jealous Lana in total denial? _That_ was some challenge...LOL. But it was fun. Hope it came off well enough, hehehe.
> 
> I don't foresee any future parts to be... _quite_ this long ever again... (a good thing? bad?) But, again—this is all experimental for-fun stuff, and I think every subsequent part is going to have something a little different. I'm not sure how it'll turn out, but...we'll see! 
> 
> With recent extra theatre work coming to a close and a dance competition **_done_** with, hopefully the next update won't be so long to come! (Can't promise anything though, just saying ._.) But I'm hoping you guys are still enjoying it. As always, please feel free to leave comments/kudos! Thank you so much to all who have done so already! ^_^


	4. The Numbers In Between

**Author's Notes:** Whoo, an update! Although, this one is a bit more of an interludey break. More of an...artsy-fartsy, flowery, introspecty...thing. :| Yes, I am totally sticking to those adjectives. _Ahem_. Presenting...

 

** The Numbers In Between **

 

When Theron had merely been born, the first utterances to be heard from his tiny, fresh being were the shrilling cries his small lungs projected with such zeal, sent echoing through the hollows of the cavern where his new life had been welcomed into the cradle of the universe. 

In this first year of Theron's life, upon the first sounds he'd voiced to reserve his place within the symphony of the cosmos, Lana had only begun learning to count. _Two_ had been the number most familiar to her. Her favorite. It was the number of years that marked her life thus far. The single, darling child of the prosperous Beniko family had only celebrated her own birthday months prior.

By _seven_ , Lana had learned numerous things—always an astute and gifted child of sundry talents. Always eager to acquire new knowledge, eager to familiarize the unfamiliar, to understand and interpret the unusual in ways only the exuberance of her imagination would permit. By seven, Lana had first learned her brief life's newest, most difficult lesson. Happiness and beauty were all the colors she saw of the universe with her still-pristine eyes. Sadness and grief were new shades of the boundless whole that had marred them, blinding them in covers of stark black and tears. Standing beside her father, young Lana watched as the pall was marched by, lowered and lain within the earth for what would be the final leave Lady Beniko would take of her daughter.

Lana looked to Papa, taking his hand as he held a photograph in the other, his own attentions lost within the tiny, still world this portrait permitted him a glimpse of. In just a single day, Lana watched how her dear father aged, wizened by the grief she'd only then begun to learn of. If not for her small fingers grasping at his own, the man may well have forgotten this small girl, losing sight of her from the deep chasm now hewn through every perceivable layer of his very being. He drew his darling girl beside him and passed the photograph with such delicate care into her small hands.

Lana looked upon the radiance of this woman's image. Golden hair and shining blue eyes. Still youthful. Still beautiful. Still full of life. Unfamiliar to the memory she now held of her.

_This was your mother_ , her papa had spoken to her in the faintest voice she'd ever heard of him, as though in denial of the truth that the very same woman now laid a memory's ghost in the cold, damp ground at their feet. 

In the same year Lana laid the memory of her mother to rest, those of Theron's own would only begin to take their first breaths. In this year, Theron was _five_. Most boys of young Theron's age raved of blasterfights and daydreamed of starfighters, playing at lofty fantasies of facing down and vanquishing the Sith and their fiendish Empire. Most boys roamed the streets in adventurous bliss, unenlightened and unaware of the plights beyond their immediate sight, drawn and led only by the enticing notion of the strength to be found in their own envisioned might. Most boys were encouraged to dream as their unbridled hearts pleased. All while Theron had been strictly disciplined in piety and forbearance, urged to be conversant with the philosophic and transcendental quarrels of morality—things his still-pristine mind could hardly yet grasp—instructed to behold the mortally drawn lines of the universe that he'd been unable to understand _why_ his eyes had never been able to glimpse. Things most boys his age need never worry of.

What young Theron _could_ understand was the heroism. The valor. And while his innocent mind could not fully articulate its meaning, Theron had already learned what it meant to be strong in spirit. That among the Jedi, within their exhausting lessons and morals, the most indomitable symbols of fortitude and tenacity—of will and of spirit—were indeed found. Among such symbols had been one particular Jedi Knight of rare exception. One Theron had always found himself invariably drawn to. One he'd admired and revered with a sense of awe beyond words a mere boy could convey. 

Amidst an unremitting sea of venerating crowds, young Theron pined to share in the glory and praise the Republic cried and awarded to its Jedi Knights in the wake of their triumphant return home. At five, Theron had been just too small to stand level among the flocks and herds. Only after he'd been drawn into his master's arms and onto his shoulders could Theron then _see_. He peered far above the heights of the crowds where his master directed his eyes to gaze. It was there that he looked upon her, at last—saw with his _own_ eyes—the single Jedi Knight his tiny heart had always felt implicitly, _inexplicably_ bound to.

Even presently then, decades since his master himself last stood as this knight's mentor, the pride and sentiment never faded from his weathered voice. _That is your mother_ , the old man had whispered only to Theron's ears as he tightly held onto his dear boy.

When Lana turned _ten_ , she'd been inducted into the Sith Academy on Korriban. An odd other among the acolytes since the very beginning. Among the orphaned younglings, she was slightly older than most, who had a home where a loving father awaited her eventual (yet no less uncertain) return—a luxury that many of the other children never knew the comforts of.

Submerged beneath the most unrelenting of trials, cast into the most punishing, abysmal depths of tribulation, acolytes were tested—to fail was to _die_. Surviving meant submission. Most acolytes succumbed, relinquishing their hearts to the drowning weight of resentment and bitterness in only one of either two ways. Within the hearth of Korriban, acolytes were forged into warriors smoldering with ambitions of glory and triumph in their tempered hearts, permitted the absolute fealty and love for _only_ the Empire they served, in total absence of question and of doubt. Such were the doctrines by which all Sith were whetted and molded.

Merely at ten, Lana had proven to be a rare element, difficult to shape and hone into perfect symmetry. Thoughts of home anchored her spirit to her heart. Thoughts of _Papa_ kept her heart gentle. Held open and always within her _own_ two hands, Lana never relinquished it all completely to the wrights and overseers who demanded it. She'd given enough, and _only_ enough, to surpass their crucibles. What remained had, ever since this momentous year, been kept safely to herself, soundly hidden and securely locked away, for fear of losing it. Ever only in the preciously rare moments would Lana allow her heart to resurface and, once again, glimpse upon the dawning light of the universe.

Now, at _eight_ , Theron had only been cast out from the folds of the Order he'd known since his birth. When Lana had only first discovered her own talents in the Force, it'd been learned that Theron had none. He, too, had been an outcast, though one who had been _entirely_ unwanted, who knew little warmth or tenderness. But also very much like Lana, he, too, had someone beloved waiting for him. Even if lacking in the luxury and the comfort that Lana knew, he, too, had a _home_. And while the other masters of the Jedi Order had given up on him, Master Ngani Zho _never_ would.

As he'd been taught to do since his earliest memory could recall, Theron had kept his eyes wide open for the lines and the colors the masters painted before them, only to find that he could see none. His ears searched through the void for any signal, any call the voices of the universe may send his way, only to hear silence. He'd reached with his two hands as far as he could, let his pure, tactile senses guide his movements and direction, but all he'd ever felt was the barren, infertile ground beneath his weary and torn feet that never led to any place.

Had it not been for Master Zho's unconditional, uncompromising love, Theron may well have believed his own heart as inadequate and insignificant as even the most palpable of his senses. Tethering it to that of his master's, following in pace with the old man's every footfall, every step and turn, Theron's heart never sank too deep, never fell so far that he'd been unable to retrieve it. 

Only eight and still very much a child, young Theron had become lost more times than not. He'd witnessed as his peers, one by one, grew consummately fluent, immersed to the core in their lessons and habits as they were taught. All while he'd been forgotten, far behind along some long-passed crossroad, left to take the alternate path the others had foregone. At only eight, Theron proceeded on alone by the only means he'd known how, with only his senses to guide him. With Master Zho's faith to safeguard him. With only his bare heart to preserve and keep him.

At _sixteen_ , following the success of her final trial, Lana assumed the mantle of the Sith Lord. Following the Republic's capitulation under the Empire's treaty the previous year, the barren planet Hoth remained a brutal, unending battlefield. In the tow of her newly assigned master, she would bid her cherished father and home goodbye yet again. She would make the Empire proud. She would make her dear _Papa_ proud.

_My darling girl_ , he'd said to his daughter on the day she'd gone, _how could you bestow unto me something that's already been had for an entire lifetime?_

As she looked upon him, she willed away all trace of tears, even those of the love and joy she'd kept so faithfully in her heart for her dearest father. Tears were unbecoming, she reminded herself. It was improper of Sith to shed them. However, Lana had always been an irregular puzzle piece. An outlier. A contradiction. This, her Papa always knew. While young Lana may not have been aware of it, it had been the single, unquestionable certainty he'd held to that would ensure her life's successes.

And Theron, at _fourteen_ , had grown to be a brilliant boy. He'd held a sharp mind, a quick wit, and an immaculate, unerring mischievous streak. His achievements had been his record of outrunning and outsmarting the circuit of speeder cops who'd given him chase almost daily. One day, it'd been for flagrant trespassing. Another, it'd been for a rough brawl he'd gotten mixed up in on the streets. His favorite and most esteemed—when he'd once sliced into the systems of a luxury speeder and had stolen it right from under the nose of a government agent. But this had been one cheeky misdemeanor too far that he didn't outrun for long. 

The day he'd been caught was the day he'd met Marcus Trant. The flinty man had not been in the least bit amused by his antics, but he'd detected the doubtless potential and skill in the boy. At fourteen, Theron began his tenure with the Republic SIS as one of its youngest ever recruited.

Once Theron became _twenty_ , Lana was _twenty-two_ , both existing along planes amidst a divided space. The lines drawn between them were clear, and they'd stood at the opposite ends, opposite poles separated by the galaxy intricately mapped in between. No longer children, but still young, Theron and Lana had glimpsed the boundaries, witnessed the extremities within the constraints of their sight. What their eyes had beheld until then had become imprints, indelible marks that helped sculpt and shape their beings.

Always in the company of their youthful certainty, the inescapable _questions_ never took leave of their hearts. Every turn cast a shade of doubtful wonder at its corner. Every climb presented an insurmountable solicitude of promise at the summit. It mattered not where they'd followed the drawn lines. The elusive intuition that never failed them always seemed advertent in revealing the seemingly esoteric parables and allegories of the universe—uncovered _questions_ that always further challenged and reshaped their perceived understandings. 

The fortitude of mind was often described like a muscle, meant to be tried and exercised in order to be strengthened. Likewise, such encounters provided experience that exhausted and exerted the heart. Not once had either Theron or Lana bent under the taxing strains of such trials. Undaunted, they continued forward, following what their eyes could see in search of the inarticulate traces toward something neither of them would yet find. Even in the face of the ethereally unknown, the perceptibly unseeable, they advanced, phantasmically guided toward opposing directions to a destination they would only realize upon its discovery.

By _twenty-six_ and _twenty-eight_ , the lines began to converge. _Manaan_ had been the name of the location in this space. To this planet, Theron Shan and Lana Beniko followed their separate lines. Through the same doors of the planet's customs center they passed—first Theron, then Lana, each lead by distinct, but similar vestiges of intuition. Arriving in search of a certain particular thing, they'd inevitably been led to find quite _another_.

In this year, Theron's ears would hear Lana Beniko's voice for the very first time, an uncanny encounter over the waves upon which their comlinks coincided. The number of times his ears had heard the inconceivable in the whole of his life was immeasurable. _This_ had been yet another of such absurdities—words of concord and assurance from the lips of a Sith. Such anomalous conundrums never failed to seize the most marked curiosities of his fascination. 

Lana's eyes, which had grown so accustomed to peering into the phenomenal, the unimaginable, would then take their initial glimpse upon Theron Shan's visage. The face of her new ally, unassuming and unexceptional only in the most perfunctory sense, she'd known, would come to reveal so much more. Remarkable eyes easily distinguished the remarkable, after all. 

Onward, they'd pressed and ventured through the successive days of this year, colluding and colliding. Against shared enemies. Against one another. With the passing encounters to be had, both Theron and Lana gradually witnessed as the lines were smeared, brushed away, and resketched by the whim and caprice of artless mortal hands. Permanence was never a thing of their world, only a mere concept, utterly disclaimed by the very purview of the universe.

Indeed, twenty-six and twenty-eight had become _busy_ numbers.

And now, they had grown to _twenty-seven_ and _twenty-nine_.

How the movements had shifted the paradigms. It'd been as though the universe had slowed, winding and revolving backwards, uprooted and loosened from the very fabric of space-time. Or, it may have been that the lanes had propelled Theron and Lana forward so, that all appeared to delay within their relative sights. It'd become difficult to quantify anymore. Reality was such a nebulous, convoluted perplexity. The supposed schematics that furnished any perceived order to the movements were _hardly_ that—more so a draft, some vague abstract that would continue to compose itself, never quite within reach of completion.

However, among the string of notes, hidden in the brushstrokes and the gestures of the composition, one could glimpse a continuum of patterns underwritten beneath it all. Like the infinite equations within the grand matrix—numbers within numbers, numbers _in between_ numbers—there'd been a design at the baton conducting the never-ending masterpiece. As with all complexities, all the pieces and the anecdotes, what had been pertinent was not the sum of the whole, not the final finish, but the balances and the equivalence extrapolated from the coalescing elements.

Between Theron and Lana—two entities, two separate whole numbers—such figures were only beginning to come together at the focal point. Until twenty-seven and twenty-nine, no matter how precisely the viewing lens had been tuned, all they'd witnessed and known had always _felt_ ostensibly distorted. Scores and scores of numbers, with only a scant few that added up. A stageplay of profound ideas that lacked the quintessence of verisimilitude. An unwonted perspective held at a slant, never quite revealing of the true dimensions. It'd been walking along the drawn lines with only an impression of realism, of the substance that formed the framework and the contours of the very tangible and very animate world.

As their own faith in their physical senses withered, the numbers shifted to balance in accordance to the unquestioning sovereignty of the universe. Nearly forgotten to the ever-flowing cosmic tides, there'd been a resurfacing component that sustained where their nominal senses could not. A passing intuition. A flicker of inspiration. A mere quantum _string_ , tethered tautly enough to their beings to compel their movements forward into the vast, encompassing space. Unwittingly, the strings that maneuvered both Theron and Lana had been drawn by their own hands, and they'd been the very same, identical, continuous strand—wound and woven throughout the geography of their shared space. With each advancing step, there came a consequent gesture that brought all things closer to convergence. Though now, all remained still too early, too far off for either of them to yet take notice.

Twenty-seven, Theron had gone, always circumspect as he'd held the string with only the barest touch, but never so wary as to discard it entirely.

Twenty-nine, Lana had passed, letting the string slacken between her fingers, consciously vigilant so as to never release it from her grasp.

Even among the smallest numbers to be counted between them, never had the ties loosened from their beings. And as such, the strands remained, intact and unremittingly bound to the solitary element that would seem invulnerable to the eroding tides or the sweltering hearth from which the most divine forces of the universe surged forth. The living, breathing element inexplicably shared between them—the very entity that marked their existence, their _purpose_. So profound in its resilience, that neither Jedi nor Sith could rend it from their beings. A singular element consecrated by the Force itself, it would seem.

But just as the laws of the universe would ordain, there existed no promise of certainty. There'd been many more numbers to be counted. Many left to be weighed and balanced.

The numbers now still remained _only_ twenty-seven and twenty-nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo...gosh, I just love playing with themes and imagery of the cosmos, and I think that Star Wars has just been the most awesome material to really showcase those themes. Astronomy, space, the universe and all that fun junk...it's all just so very fascinating and even romantic in a sense, yeah? This chapter was pretty laden with that stuff, and I hope it hadn't gotten too redundant. It's kind of been an experiment with observations between the 'little' and the 'big' things. Seeing parallels between the self and the world—all that philosophical, artsy junk, haha. I know it probably got a bit...kinda 'in-the-air' towards the end, there. Since the 'thing' being described between Theron and Lana was itself such an airy, abstract thing, I decided to kind of venture into more abstract language, too when it got there—a little...conceptual and impression-y. Definitely a different sort of challenge trying to reconcile some of it in the writing so that it comes together in a good way...bleh. I dunno, anyone care to share any thoughts? :)
> 
> And apologies in advance—the next one might be a little long to come again. Gonna be bum-rushing a bit this month to wrap up some things in preparation for a big, local convention coming up (Lana Beniko cosplay—say _whaaat_?? :D). It's been an...interesting sort of challenge, to say the least. Aside from _fun_ lightsaber fiascos (but I've _finally_ gotten it to LIGHT—win for spoomy!!), it's like easily the most ridiculously hardest thing to make a blond wig _work_ when you're Asian, lol. Oh, Lana...you're just about as blond as it _gets_.
> 
> I'll definitely try to keep as busy as I can with writing. As always, I hope everyone continues to enjoy upcoming chapters. Please feel free to leave any comments or kudos!


	5. The Hearth

**Author's Notes:** Annnd...in a single update, I've doubled the running word count of this entire fic, lol. _Jeebus_. But here it is! I'm aliiiive, I promise, lol. Soo, I suppose I somewhat lied about the mega-chapters thing... _heh_. Yeeah, this one's the longest one yet (practically an entire story in itself, like...for serious. Grab a snack for the read, lol.) The consequences of such a long update to come, I suppose. I really am sorry for the ridiculous wait, but hopefully this makes up for it! ^_^ Enjoy! 

 

** The Hearth **

 

"—Hey! You still there?!"

Trailing behind another operative with two others following in tow, Theron cried with grave urgency into his comlink to their airborne allies. Amidst their search for an escape route from the depot they'd been navigating, the resounding storm of blaster fire and laser cannons thundered over them from the distant expanse. Like wailing sirens, the foreboding signals from beyond the thick permacrete walls surrounding them stood the unassailable evidence of the raging tempest of battle that had begun to sweep through the terrain outside.

Theron's mission had become a devastating failure, submitting the Republic troops scattered throughout their toppling lines to the grievous consequences as they'd been left to endure the onslaught of the enemy's freshly mobilized droid vanguard.

" _...opy? ...old...pos...it...n..._ "

Furrowing his brows as he strained to listen over the soaring echoes of the advancing artillery, Theron nearly flinched as the earth-shattering tremors began to stir the foundations of the warehouse. Only the ghostly creaking of the swinging lights overhead and the indecipherable crackling static of his comlink filled the ominous air, deceitfully placid in its stale haze. Theron cautiously reserved a moment he was certain he did not have to still his shaking hand as it gripped the guardrail of the platform they'd been crossing. Once he opened his eyes in the calming breath that followed, he'd seen just how white his knuckles had become. Turning his gaze aside, he bit his lip, trying desperately to calm his nerves and try again at communications.

"Teff'ith, I can barely hear you. Can you repeat—"

"—HEY, INCOMING!!"

In the following instant after the sudden warning his fellow agent shouted, Theron had thrown himself downward at a hair's response just as a massive volley of laser fire tore through the southern wall of the warehouse. While clambering to cling to the teetering platform, Theron could only witness in horror as their other two companions were blown away in the storm of shredded debris as their end of the walkway had been completely stripped from its supports. As fortune would ordain, his own portion of the very same passageway had remained intact, stopping just short of total collapse. Even so, his better judgement knew not to test it. He wasted no time pulling himself away from the broken remnant of the platform and back toward his single remaining ally.

"Shan, you okay?!" the other agent shouted from several meters ahead, having dove away the moment he'd sighted the blinding rain of lasers flickering in the distance.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" Theron responded as he regained himself. "But _shit_...the other guys..." he exhaled in ragged breaths.

"I know," the remaining agent quickly responded, shaking his head. He rushed over to Theron's side, hauling him back to his feet. "Look, we gotta get the hell out of here, Shan. Where the fuck is backup?"

"Damn it... Damn it..." Theron cursed under his breath as he tried to adjust his comlink's settings. The static whirred and shifted with his every fuming pound striking against the device, but that was all he could manage out of it.

"Come on, Shan. Any word coming in yet?!" the other agent pressed in his frantic impatience.

"Comms are fucking scrambled."

"What about backup? Where are they?" he questioned once more in his swelling panic.

"I don't know!"

"Shan—"

"I don't _fucking_ know, okay?!" Theron shouted in response as he turned to look at his last remaining companion. Both agents shared a ragged look of dread and desperation. A heavy beat fell between them before Theron raked a hand through his disheveled hair, now quite dampened by the sweat of his haste and trepidation. He squeezed his eyes shut, rarely ever pushed to such levels of anxiety as he'd been now. He'd found himself thrust into difficult and impossible situations not unlike this before, but never with the weight of so many lives smothering the waning embers of his already withering conscience. Every merciless echo of cannon and blaster fire that sounded through the field to fill his ears stood a reminder of the scores of allies being swept away by the advancing droid vanguard that he and his team had been unable to thwart.

Unsettled by his own wracking breaths, the other agent stopped and watched him slowly begin to fall to pieces. "Look, Theron. I know what you're thinking, but I am asking you—"

"Don't you fucking get it?!" he lashed out at him, too deeply plunged beneath the guilt of their failure. "You hear all that?" Pointing through the torn wall and into the clear expanse of the ignited battlefield, Theron questioned him relentlessly. "That's all because of us! Backup isn't coming! No one is fucking coming!!" Caught amid the staggering fit of frustration, Theron then violently threw the comlink from his grasp, casting it away to the ground.

Carried by the drowning overflow of the uneasy silence that followed, the other agent tried to consider and salvage their situation while Theron paced and shifted about in his steps. "So...what? We'll have to—we'll have to find a way to get back through the lines, right?" Struggling to keep himself afloat, the agent tracked through the possible options available to them.

"What lines?" Theron narrowed his eyes at the other man. "We're outgunned and outnumbered. And the sweeper artillery droids are gonna plow right through them all. They don't stand a chance—!"

" _—Th...ron..._ "

The broken hum of what seemed to be a woman's voice phasing in from Theron's discarded comlink drew their immediate attention. Having been a military-issued model, the impact had not scathed the device in the least.

" _...ou copy...?_ "

Theron narrowed his eyes as he strained to listen to the voice, growing in clarity with every passing second as the signal of his channels gradually returned. He paced back over to the device and knelt down to pick it back up. Bringing it to his lips, he held its switch as he spoke through it once again.

"Hey! Hey, are you getting through? Do you copy?" he asked with a renewed tinge of hope.

" _—Theron_. Theron, can you hear me?"

Now emerging with perfect clarity through the haze, the voice had been unmistakable.

"Lana?"

"Theron!" she sighed in a wash of relief. "Thank the Force..."

Hearing her through his channel nearly brought an inane bout of laughter over him. He'd been awash with indescribable disbelief.

"Theron, you must listen. Please hold your position for as long as you can. Reinforcements are en route as we speak."

"Reinforcements?" the other agent murmured. "Imperials?" As the realization came over him, he scowled and shook his head. "No. You tell her—we can't stay here. We gotta fall the fuck back, now."

"She said to hold—"

"You saw those laser cannons, Theron!! The droids are _coming_. We're not talking small-fry, here—those were long-range lasers from a bunch of big-ass sweepers, okay!? Heavy artillery gunners!!"

Lana continued to speak over the comlink, unaware of the exchange being shared between the two agents. "I've been told that you and your team are currently located within a supply depot five miles behind the lines."

The second agent breathed a sigh of desolation at hearing this. " _Five miles_? That's what it is...?" Shaking his head, he released a laugh thick in its bitter irony. "Shit..." Five miles through the calamity outside was an impossible trial he paled to even consider. "Shit, what the hell are we gonna do...?" he uttered.

"In order to facilitate your extraction, I need you to leave the compound. I need you outside." Evident in the deliberate control she commanded in her tone, even Lana could not completely conceal her own burgeoning anxiety.

Theron briefly shut his eyes and exhaled before responding. "Look, Lana. We...we can't leave the cover of this place. Not right now—there are droids advancing through here, and they're mowing right through our infantry. They're going to be on top of us in no time—"

"— _Find_ a way." Lana voiced her assertion with imperative, seeing no other alternative.

After a moment's profound consideration, he yielded another deep breath, relenting to Lana's instruction. "Okay... Okay, just give us a few minutes."

" _Shan_!"

"It's not like we have any other choice! Unless you got a better idea? We're definitely dying in _here_ if we don't out there!"

Seeing the sense in his reasoning, the man fell into a tentative silence. His frame tensed greatly as he inwardly fought against his inclinations to stay put behind the cover of these walls, however temporary the safety they'd offered had been. 

As though timed by the perfected course paved by fate's very own hand, the far doors of the warehouse rolled open with a loud rush in the subsequent moment. It would seem the short-lived reprieve of his hesitation had itself cued the entry of this droid unit, arriving in pursuit of the two remaining intruders within these grounds.

Accompanying this unit had been a massive artillery droid not unlike those scattered along the lines outside, slowly whittling away at the Republic's defenses. The monstrous machine trailed well behind, escorted by the armed infantry that marched through first, but its mere presence would greatly impact the tide of this skirmish, already set against the remaining agents' odds. Before either Theron or his comrade could preemptively respond, they'd been instantly spotted by the droids through their advanced sensors. They could do little else other than dive for cover as the unit began to release a rain of blaster fire at their targets, holding them down in defense along the upper levels.

"Theron—!!" Lana's alarmed voice rang over the comlink at the sound of the commotion, panicked by uncertainty. "Are you all right?!"

"Yeah, Lana. We're fine—"

"'Kay, you won me over, Shan. We're not staying!" the other agent wryly relented as they lowered themselves flat against the walkway's platform.

"—Okay, look. You listening, Lana?"

"Theron, what's going on?" she questioned him gravely.

"We're, uh...we're kinda pinned down, here. Droids are coming in. We're gonna make a shot for clearing the warehouse—we're on the south side, okay?" he spoke with a forced volume over the blaster fire.

"You won't miss it—it's missing a wall!" Theron's comrade called aloud, adding his touch of grim humor.

Theron's grasp tightened on his comlink as he drew his blaster with his other hand. "You gotta be ready for us. We don't have a lot of time, but we'll stick it out as long as we can. Counting on you, Beniko."

"Understood. Please stand by. I'll arrive at your location shortly."

Theron nearly choked upon hearing her definitive closing words of the transmission. "Wait, _what_ —?"

Before he could say more, the explosion of his fellow agent's grenade, released only moments ago, filled the warehouse with a deafening boom, nearly ringing his ears as he'd been unprepared for the shockwave.

"Shan, come on—move your ass, 'cause I'm not waiting!" he called to him as he pushed himself to his feet after the opening had made itself clear. The man vaulted over the guardrail to the floor below, ready to dash through the torn permacrete wall to the outer perimeter.

Scrambling to quickly regain his own footing and catch up, Theron followed his movements. With the comlink still in hand, he brought it back to his lips to question Lana further. "What do you mean 'arrive'? _You're_ on the surface?" This had completely gone against the plan they'd settled on at the start of the mission. "You weren't supposed t—Lana, what are you doing down here?"

"Thank your director. It seems only he had the sense to reach out to me for the aid of our reserve forces within the sector—"

"No. I'm asking what _you're_ doing here, Lana—"

Before he could complete his thought, he'd taken a moment to clear his path ahead, firing several shots at some enemy droids visible in the settling dust of the blast. As soon as they were dispatched, he picked back up on the point at hand. "Are you listening?! There was a reason why we agreed you'd stay on the flagship!"

"I cannot believe that you are arguing about this now of all times, Theron!!" she railed back, heated by his unexpected response. "Do focus on the pertinent matter at hand, won't you?"

The telltale click heard from the transmission alerted him to its abrupt end, deliberately forced on him by her doing. "Damn it, Lana..." he cursed under his breath. Theron furrowed his brow in frustration. One mess after another. He simply couldn't keep himself afloat in all the pandemonium that now threatened to pull him under.

There'd been a light visible in Theron's sights now. He could see the opening of the torn southern wall of the depot straight ahead, and not a single obstacle stood in his path. His overwrought lungs burned as he forced himself to the limits in his dash for escape. First, he'd seen the glimmer of the sky's promising daylight through the dust. But before his consciousness could register what had happened next, his sights once again hazed over under the veil of pitch black before he could see again. It hadn't been the black of night—that much he knew. Why the thought even crept into mind was a boggling question. Soon enough, he realized that his head ached to dwell on it. Theron blinked several times before the color returned to his vision, now blurred and distorted every bit as much as the sound that his ears could discern within the chaos. He winced as he willed his limbs to stir, only to discover quickly that he was currently lying on the ground. With a violent cough, he could then see that a thick cover of dust and debris had blanketed his body in entirety.

Slowly, Theron craned his head to his left to see that the other agent, too, lied sprawled on the ground. He was conscious, and his expression appeared to contort in distress. He was screaming, Theron finally realized. But none of the sound seemed to reach his still-ringing ears. Only the sounds that made little to no sense were audible to them at the moment. He strained to look with greater concentration to see that the agent's leg had been impaled by some form of shrapnel. A wire? _No_ —a rod. It'd been a structural support rod or something of the sort. The pulsing rush of his blood beat at his ears, throbbing as it coursed through his clouded head. He squeezed his eyes shut as he rolled himself over to his right. Easing them open again, he allowed them a moment to focus. Within the brief duration of this rattling sensation, all things felt substantially slowed. So much so, that Theron simply couldn't piece the seconds together into anything that his mind perceived to be in the least bit coherent.

He blinked again, a simple action that seemed to sting the very nerves in his eyes and on through his entire skull. His impaired sight picked up a faint gleam of blue in his view. Some sort of light. A dome? Or some kind of shell? As it dissipated, the movement stirring behind the fading barrier that his aching eyes read within the slowed frames alerted him to something approaching. Something massive. Something...

_Shit._

The shimmering wall of blue had gone, and now his sore eyes found themselves staring down a sinister glow of red. It'd been enough. Theron's eyes quickly widened as it all came into focus in a rushing gale. Positioned some meters from where he now lied was the artillery droid escorted by the infantry unit. In the seconds that followed, he couldn't figure what had happened. He couldn't gather what the signs and signals of the destruction around him meant. What they'd been a result of. What was clear was the sight of the heavy laser cannon the massive machine now directed straight at him. The sight of Death.

As with all his previous encounters with Death, it happened in the blink of an eye. He'd come close before. He'd stared into its face, into its own eyes. He'd even reached out in a bid to shake its hand. But as with each of these encounters, Theron had never once taken Death's grasp into his own. He'd come close, but never had they touched. Never had they exchanged words, exchanged promises of bargain. Such had been Theron's saving grace.

The moment Theron shut his eyes as he recoiled from the cannon's swelling light, the face of this anonymous acquaintance once again appeared in his darkened sight, casting the familiar chill through to the core of his very being as he prepared himself to welcome it. He prepared himself ably. Prepared valiantly. He awaited it.

And yet, he did not feel its hand.

Surely, he'd heard the cannon fire its beam. The violent sound was unmistakable. But as Theron slowly peeled his eyes open once again, within his sights stood his salvation.

_Lana._

Theron could swear that his eyes meant to deceive him. But there she was—as true as his own still-beating heart—her lightsaber held steadily in her two hands as she stood between him and Death, warding it off by the might of her will and conviction. His ally. His protector.

Lana tightened her hands around the hilt of her lightsaber as she strained to hold back the massive beam of the droid's cannon. It'd been too concentrated to deflect, as one armed with a lightsaber easily would any mere blasterbolt. She'd steadfastly held her ground, counting the finite seconds that the droid could hold its beam as she continued to subdue the brunt of it by the blade of her saber. In what she sensed to be the final moments of its yield, she moved to completely negate it with a single, wide swing. Reaching her left palm forward, Lana then subsequently released a massive wave of Force lightning toward the artillery droid, striking before it found a chance to counter. The overwhelming current she directed through its systems almost instantaneously brought it down.

Watching as it convulsed and succumbed to her assault, she then reeled back her hand before unleashing a second strike—a powerful pulse commanded purely by the Force's sheer might, sent straight through the machine's failing body. There'd been no time to waste in watching it tear apart as soon as she'd been assured of its demise. Lana opted to immediately direct her attention around to Theron, who remained lingering at the ground by her feet. While her mindful gaze held only him in its sights, his own had watched the swift destruction she'd single-handedly wrought upon the colossal droid that threatened his existence only moments ago.

Theron had lost himself in the feat he'd just witnessed. For all the ruthlessness and savagery of her decisive act, he'd failed to notice when Lana dropped to her knees at his side. He did not feel when she'd reached her hands for him, taking him by the shoulders as she beckoned him. He did not hear the desolation that consumed her voice as she called again and again to him. Only when she'd urged him to look at her with her own hands drawing his face into hold did his wits finally begin to return to the present moment.

"Theron!" she breathed again as she turned him to face her. "Are you all right...?!" Her voice had become fraught with concern when he didn't appear to respond.

"Lana..." he managed to utter. It would seem that his nebulous mind still required a moment to recover fully from the ordeal.

"You're not hurt, are you?" she asked again, as he hadn't seemed to hear her repeated questions. Her eyes quickly scanned him over in search of any injury or harm that may not have been immediately apparent.

As he blinked, Theron finally recalled the matter that occupied his thoughts prior to the blast he'd endured. He first turned his attention to his injured comrade, still writhing in pain from his bleeding leg wound where he'd lain. Theron slipped away from Lana's hands as he rose to his feet.

"Shit..."

Theron hastily turned his gaze all around him, taking in the damage to evaluate and piece together the current situation. The battlefield remained in total chaos as far as he could discern, but among the affray were the multitude of Sith warriors Lana had brought with her. They continued to drop in, cutting through the waves of droids beyond the depot grounds. As he expected, their lightsabers proved to be highly effective in defending and battling against the droid weaponry. The current Republic forces defending this world lacked the presence of the Jedi, which had been one of the many grave miscalculations they'd made as the army prepared against the insurgents occupying the planet. Along with the Sith fighters, waves of Imperial troopers continued to land in the vicinity of the scattered Republic lines, laying heavy fire against the enemy to aid the Sith's advance in pushing the droids back.

"Theron—!" Lana called to him again as he stepped away from her.

"Hey! Get some help over here for him, will you?" he stressed to her as he turned back to the other agent.

Lana nodded gravely before communicating this through her comlink.

His sights then turned upward as he noticed the open light pouring through the warehouse. As he glanced overhead, Theron quickly realized that the entire roof of the structure had been blown apart, its debris left in shredded pieces and piles all around at their feet. It only took a moment's consideration for him to gather that it'd been another volley of laser cannons like the one that destroyed the southern wall that could possibly have wrought this sort of destruction.

_Long-range precision lasers... They've got that sort of firepower too, huh?_

"Medics are on their way, Theron. They'll arrive once we have this depot secured—"

"—And _you_ ," Theron immediately turned to Lana, cutting her words short. "I asked you—what in the _hell_ are you doing here?!"

His sudden scathing response brought Lana to a complete halt. When she hadn't answered immediately, Theron's frustration only escalated.

"Lana?!"

"What am I doing here? Look around you, Theron! I came to save _you_ and your allies!!"

"What part of 'stay off the fucking planet' didn't you get? You were supposed to stay in orbit. Who's overseeing ops if you're _here_ , Lana?!"

Her gaze stilled as it met his, a clear sign of her refusal to bend under his indignation. "My second. I've charged him with overseeing the entire offensive while I am here."

Too swept by his own frustrations, Theron could only shake his head in his disbelief as he turned away from her. "I can't believe this is happening..."

"I don't understand what your issue is, Theron! I was to be your backup. You needed help. I came."

"The point was to keep you out of the fray in case shit like this _does_ happen!" he reminded her. "You give operatives a job. We go in. We get it done."

Lana refused to relent in spite of his reasoning. "Yes—and it is my job to assist by whatever means necessary to accomplish the mission, is it not?!"

"You don't see people like Trant taking on field missions, Lana," he insisted with waning patience. "We can't afford to lose people higher in the chain of command. Not for joint missions like this to keep working!"

What Theron meant to say was that they couldn't afford to lose _her_. There'd be no other within the whole of the Empire, he was certain, who would undertake what she'd begun with the Republic if anything had befallen to remove her. 

Against the prolonged pause that brewed between their exchanged glances, the resounding echoes of the battle that continued on all around them warded off any lasting silence. The distant, whirring hum of lightsabers and scattered sounds of ammunition would have sooner sent off any other witness displaced amidst the chaos, but it all seemingly drowned out into the all-encompassing, incoherent din they'd found themselves at the center of.

Lana raised her gaze to him, her jaw rigidly set in her own subdued ire. "How many times have I fought by your side, Theron?" she questioned him in a lowered voice that would have otherwise gone completely unheard had she not been standing only mere paces away. "Don't you trust me to have your back?"

His frame stiffened at her words. _Trust_. That had been the single utterance within her sumptuous vocabulary that never failed to stir such controversy within Theron's conscience. But that was not the case this time. It ceased to ever be again, he'd quickly noted. No—what ailed his thoughts at the moment, caused him such halting indecision, had been something else entirely. Something of a far less contentious matter. While Theron's eyes appeared to soften, his expression showed no fickle trace of his faltering resolve.

"You're not an operative anymore," he curtly reminded her.

And by his simple words—direct, concise, and candid as they were—Lana's indignation flared in all its contemptuous scorn. She quietly drew her lips apart as she bored her gleaming sight directly through him. Theron had rarely seen her truly angered. When there ever came a time when she had been, Lana did not shout, nor did she ever grow violent. When Lana was truly angered, she grew _silent_.

"You forget, Theron—before I was Minister, I was a soldier. I am a Sith. A _protector_ ," she reminded him stringently.

Her every word was calculated, spoken with absolute purpose. Theron's own had teetered along a fine line, one that noticeably waned and faded more and more with each following encounter she'd shared with him along its edge. And with the disappearing lines, Lana came to discover the depths, the untapped dimensions within herself that would inevitably steer her conscience to faultlessly forgive his every transgression, intentional or otherwise.

As this spindling pang of remorse began to pull at the strings bound to her sinking heart, the solemn umbrage she'd momentarily bore gently receded, washing away in waves as it relinquished, in traces, the warmth and color back to her countenance. Her words may have been spoken out of spite, but her heart did not bear a shred of it.

"Theron, please," she beckoned him in an even fainter voice. "Please, listen." Just as she extended her hand to him, he'd briskly turned away from her, his thoughts once again trailing elsewhere.

"Where's Teff'ith?" he sharply inquired, suddenly reminded that he'd lost his transmission with his friend prior to the arrival of their reinforcements. "She was supposed to be our transport."

Lana gave her plain and simple answer. "On her way." Her eyes did not leave Theron's back as she watched him anxiously pace about. "Her vessel lacks adequate defenses," she assured him to relieve his concern, "so she stayed behind our ships."

Gaining no further response from him, she allowed another pause to pass over them. The music of battle carried on in the backdrop of the movement filling the atmosphere. Just constant and repetitious enough to escape any conscious thought.

"Theron," she called in a bid to regain his attention. The steady tone she'd spoken with did little to draw him back, it would seem. Lana's countenance withered under his silence. " _Theron_..." she called again.

It was in this moment that Lana began to realize that her breaths were growing heavy again, never having properly been given a chance to calm amidst the affray. While she felt perfectly stilled by the weight bearing down on her shoulders, she'd found that the most delicate nerves at her fingertips would not cease to stir. The same sensation stirred her lips, trembling with every barest ebb and flow of air held and released.

In his wandering contemplation, Theron took no notice of Lana's misgivings. His thoughts were narrowed, concentrated as he wracked through every inner bend and corner in a desperate bid for his consciousness to recompose and reorder itself. As with his addled mind, his gaze, too, floated about the wide expanse around them. Things had gone terribly awry, he'd known. And as his experience and instincts directed, he now searched endlessly for a means to salvage the pieces from the wreckage.

As his eyes aimlessly drifted over the sight of the vicinity, Theron began to note a peculiar pattern unfolding in his view. He watched the uncanny precision among the droids scattered through the area as they simultaneously began to halt. Promptly after they'd all disengaged offenses, he then witnessed as each of the enemy's droids subsequently raised identical barriers around themselves—force fields emitted in the very same, indistinguishable blue glow.

He narrowed his eyes at the peculiar sense of familiarity witnessing their formation. He'd certainly seen the very same protocol before. As the disjointed recollections flashed through his mind, he quickly remembered at last.

_That artillery droid._

The droid Lana dismantled had raised a shield identical to these. And it'd happened only seconds before...

A mere moment's consideration brought him to the single, paralyzing realization. The droids had all been directed to raise their _ray shields_. Such a collective command prompt could only mean one thing, he reasoned.

Theron's eyes widened in alarm as he turned his gaze southward, and surely, they'd glimpsed the next barrage of heavy laser fire already unleashed, bounding through the atmosphere to rain down on them once again.

It'd been astounding how much could transpire in a single instant. Lana paused to see Theron's sudden shift—the crippling look of panic that washed over him as he turned in her direction. But his eyes did not look to her. Following where they'd glimpsed, she slowly steered her own sights over her shoulder towards the sky. Lana's eyes had then _seen_ , only far too late to yield any response.

She'd recalled the moment she felt Theron's hand forcefully grasping her arm. She'd recalled nearly falling over when he wrenched her from the very spot she'd been standing in, pulled away and into his hold. And his voice, briefly crying out a warning to her as he turned to shield her himself.

" _Get down_ —!!" 

She remembered him shouting this. And it'd then become a chaotic blur before it all dimmed completely into the haze of her conscious recollection.

In his hastened impulse to protect her, Theron had inadvertently pulled Lana between himself and the broken mass of rubble the blast had thrown them against. His recovery had been far quicker this time around, as once again, Theron found himself pushing off from the fractured earth and permacrete beneath his aching body. In a heaving groan, he forced his eyes open and strained to keep his nerves clear and lucid.

His sights first fell on the disarmed lightsaber lain only some feet away from him. _Lana's_ lightsaber, he immediately recognized. Watching as the blade's beam flickered before completely shorting out, he reached for it. The grip of her saber's hilt was unfamiliar to his hands, but he required no familiarity with it to know that it had been badly wrecked. Even in his initial survey after recovering it, Theron could spot the extensive damage done to the weapon. As he recomposed himself, he quickly tucked it away into his belt, whirling his sights around in search of something far more important.

In another direction, he spotted Lana lying some yards away. Scrambling to his feet, he rushed over, ignoring the aches and contusions that battered his limbs.

"Lana!!" he called, falling to the ground beside her. "Hey... _hey_! Lana, are you okay?!" He tapped his hand lightly along her face, only to find her still and unresponsive. At his initial impulse, he brought his trembling fingers to check her vitals for a pulse. Although he required a moment to collect his own bearings before he could bring himself to effectively do so, he released a sigh of relief as soon as he'd found it.

" _Fuck_..." he breathed as he tried to loosen himself from his panic. Theron let his head hang forward as he willed the clarity back into his focus. Inspecting her for injury, he'd seen where her head had struck the permacrete they landed against, realizing that he'd been left only mildly scathed due to Lana herself enduring the brunt of the collision.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Theron cursed to himself for having unwittingly caused this. He furrowed his brows in frustration as he pulled her into hold with a gentle shake in a bid to rouse her.

"Hey... Lana, honey—come on. Wake up." Losing grasp of his wits, his expression began to crumble under the weight of his distress. "We gotta get the fuck out of here. _Come on_ , Lana!"

He ran his hand through the tangles of her disheveled hair, brushing away the locks that fell into her face. " _Wake up_!!" he hissed again through his teeth.

Caught at the epicenter of the aftermath's storm stirring both outside and within himself, Theron had completely disregarded the arrival of Teff'ith's small vessel as it descended close by. The young Twi'lek girl stood hovering at her ship's open cargo door, shouting to Theron before the vessel had even completed its landing.

"Theron!!!" Her voice called to him loudly over the whirring engines of her ship. The heavy sound of her accent had been unmistakable.

Puzzled by his lack of response, Teff'ith's thin patience urged her to leap from the door of her ship to fetch him. Her keen eyes gauged the thick of the battle still very active in the immediate vicinity. Setting aside her anxious concerns for her ship and crew, she turned her gaze to where Theron had lingered up ahead. As her eyes narrowed with resolve, she dashed onward towards him. 

"Theron! We leave! NOW!" she cried sharply as she neared him.

As Teff'ith approached, she only cried to him louder and more insistently with her growing vexation, but his utter disregard of her arrival began to worry her deeply. She didn't know what was stalling him, nor did she much care. In her frustration, she began pulling him by the arm as soon as she could reach for him, urging him to depart with her crew immediately.

"Need to GO!!!" she shouted, trying to pull him to his feet.

Feeling his resistance as she tried to urge him along, she then grasped him by the shoulder and shook him. " _Theron_!"

Theron's own recollection of this calamitous day only seemed to extend so far. Everything that happened after was lost to the vaporous obscurity. They'd boarded Teff'ith's ship, and she'd flown them back to the safety of the Republic station orbiting the planet long before the battle's end. Whatever had come of it, whatever had been the next course of action, remained secondary in Theron's concerns for as long as he'd waited while Lana had lain in recovery within the infirmary ward.

Nearly an entire day she'd taken to finally awaken. While none of her injuries appeared to be threatening, her state of health remained dubious in the days to come. She'd suffered a head trauma, and such acute injuries were known to be unpredictable in their nature. Still, such a concern did nothing to deter her ambitious impulses of propelling herself back into the fray. To see the still-incomplete mission to its definitive end.

"...I am _perfectly_ lucid—" Lana argued vehemently against Theron, catching him before his next departure. "My bearings and my command of the Force remain uncompromised! I am _fine_ , Theron!"

"Yeah? Well, your damn mind must be pretty fucking gone if you think that means you're fine enough to go skipping through a full-blown battlefield after a _concussion_."

They'd stood unrelenting, matching one another's stubborn will and unyielding tenacity as they quarreled within the waiting hall just beyond the lift to the station's hangar. Lana's second-in-command stood by in wait, prepared to accompany the SIS in the Minister's stead on their next assignment back to the occupied planet's surface. Theron's friend, Teff'ith, lingered at the corner of the adjoining corridor in her usual, muted indifference. The aloof youth did not care to get involved in their dispute, already anxious over owing Theron the favor of her current services. It'd been her morbid, prying curiosity that coaxed her presence, a thing the girl would sooner die than ever openly admit to.

"And now I stand here before you, willing and able on my feet." Lana challenged him, furious to find that he'd arranged to continue forward without her counsel. "I have become just as involved as you and Republic on this operation. I mean to see it through."

"Lana—"

"No!" She halted his words before allowing him to finish, certain of what he intended to say. "SIS's team could not successfully disengage the insurgents' droid reserves on the surface—"

"We fucked up—I _know_ , Lana!" Theron snapped back. His guilt over their failure had been immeasurable, lingering at the borderlines of his conscience ever since.

"Then you know as well as I do that we have no luxury to forego any resources to stop them from mobilizing the _entirety_ of the droid army!" 

Lana had evidently become as emotionally taxed as he'd been. Though in light of all the lurking reasons that clouded her sense at the moment, her sympathies remained unhindered. Lana was not blind to the ailing frustrations that plagued Theron's mind. She collected her breaths in a bid to calm herself before speaking further. "I...I am not blaming you. Now is not the time for that."

She had never been one to dwell on matters. Lana was pragmatic and forthright. "They anticipated our movements and responded in kind—it couldn't be helped. And now the first wave of their weaponized droids have been prematurely activated." She calmly recounted the reality of their dilemma. 

"We were _lucky_ , Theron. The Imperial reserves I was able to deploy were enough to slow them. And if it hadn't been for your friend, Teff'ith, I would never have been able to locate you in time!" she gravely emphasized, pointing in the young woman's direction. As she mentally assessed the situation they were left to contend with, Lana sought to prove her uncompromised reasoning and sound grasp of their bearings.

The moment Lana's voice began to climb, Theron grew defensive once more. Reminded of another issue that had been dwelling on his ire, he forced the subject back into her hands. 

"What were you doing taking the lead on the front with them?" He redirected their altercation with unflinching severity. "You're the Minister of Intelligence, not a field commander. You were _supposed_ to be our eyes and ears from above—"

"My timely arrival was what _saved_ you, Theron!!" Overcome by utter disbelief, Lana spoke over his words with a burning outrage. His entire demeanor had been taken as an affront to her competence. "Surely, this entire debacle has proven my very point—that there is nothing, no one we can forego in order to continue this operation to its end! _Myself_ included."

The atmosphere of their momentary pause had thickened enough to stifle even the ironclad fortitude of their inadvertent audience. Lana narrowed her eyes discerningly at Theron with her next daring challenge. "Don't pretend that you would not make the same assertion if our roles were reversed."

He couldn't counter her presumptuous claim because he'd known that she was entirely correct. Theron lingered in silence as he straightened himself through his stiffening posture, only realizing a moment too late that his telling gesture had effectively relinquished all traces of his illusive resolve entirely to her. For all of his fervent tenacity, his belligerence had been revealed to be little more than mere pretext. To deter her from voicing another reprising word, he obtrusively reminded her of yet another point against her folly.

"Fine. Say you were okay. What the hell are you gonna fight with, Lana? In case it slipped your mind after having it get knocked around—you've got a _broken_ lightsaber."

Lana's lips tightened as she processed the sense behind his reasoning, but her stubbornness remained inexorably ironclad. "You think I can't fight without my lightsaber?" she retorted sharply, in full awareness of the great disadvantage it would place upon her.

"I know you can. But I've got others who are uninjured and fully equipped."

"I'm _not_ injured."

"I KNOW you're not this stupid, Lana!!" Theron's voice swelled in his disbelief of her complete abandonment of reason. He'd never known her to behave this way. Any action and decision of Lana's was only ever passed with meticulous forethought and scrutiny. Prudence and practicality were the very quintessential totems that fortified her rational judgment, never allowing her emotions to mislead her sensibilities. Theron simply could not fathom what had driven her to such a degree of negligence.

"That blast took you out for almost an entire day. And you're thinking of running right back into the firefight?"

"Soldiers have fought under worse circumstances—"

"—When they have no _choice_!"

"Then you mean to take away _mine_?!"

Only a mere beat passed with Theron's following pause. "If that's what it takes to keep you from doing something stupid to hurt yourself? Then yeah, I am."

Lana's disposition grew withdrawn and guarded as her frustration overcame her. "You have put yourself on the line like this numerous times before. How is this any different?" she challenged him heatedly.

"The difference, Lana? I usually know when not to push it." Theron's demeanor grew sedate upon recounting his own bouts of recklessness in the past. Hypocrisy was a thing he despised. But he simply couldn't stomach the alternative at the height of this teetering moment. 

"Yeah, we can't afford to be pulling any stops on this, but we can't afford to be _careless_ either." Theron had been infuriatingly incapable of absolving himself of the hanging guilt, even though it had been entirely Lana's decision to leave her seat overseeing the mission. She'd thoughtlessly placed _herself_ within harm's range. She'd gotten _herself_ hurt. And there hadn't been a thing Theron could do other than to count his numbered blessings that it had not culminated into something far more catastrophic.

Seemingly forgotten in the din of their exchange, Lana's second stirred where he'd been standing. The SIS agent's bid to reason with his superior appeared to be falling on deaf ears, and he himself could not fathom why that was. In all of her years of service, Lana had never been so feckless. This was a merit of note that exemplified her reputation. Her sensibility and aptitude had been among the myriad reasons why he'd sought to serve under her employ. 

Like the enduring cliffside walls against the punishing, bellicose sea, he'd remained every bit the solitary counterbalance to the roiling waters of the pair's evenly matched truculence. In his stern, watchful silence, he turned his gaze toward them. There'd been something he'd sensed. Some shadow of a lurking issue far deeper beneath the tidal surface that neither of the parties were inclined to speak of. As he stood by to assess the tempestuous waters, the astute man could also sense through his Force's intuition the similar, brewing presentiment deeply set within the innermost thoughts of the Twi'lek girl still lingering at the corner of the hall. She held no interest in intervening, but she'd taken great liberties in indulging herself on this spectacle, it would seem.

"I know you feel fine right now. I get it. But the medic hadn't cleared you. You know how head injuries work. What if something happens while we're in the middle of the mission?" Theron attempted once again to appeal to her better senses, easing his voice in an earnest bid to coax her from her foolhardy obstinance. "Lana...you would put yourself at risk like that?"

Lana grew quiet, lowering her gaze solemnly as she drew her head higher. "If a sacrifice must be paid to advance, then so be it."

" _Sacrifice_?" Theron was beside himself with incredulousness by what he'd been hearing. It'd been utterly incomprehensible. "Lana... Do you care that little about your own well-being—your own _life_?"

Their exchange had reached a deadlock Lana was no longer interested in trying to disentangle. She'd been finished with this entire discussion. In complete dismissal of his any further opposition, Lana reconstituted herself, obscurely guarded behind the guise of the stoic Sith Lord she ceased to don before Theron since their earliest encounters.

"I believe we have had this talk before, Theron." Her curt response had infallibly underscored her decisive resolve. "It is for the same reason I made my choices on Rishi and on Ziost! I thought of all people, it would be clear to _you_ what is at stake—what actions are _necessary_ in order to preserve the whole."

In this momentous instant, the seething malcontent that had welled within in her conscience erupted at last. The uncontainable torrent had been patiently carving its path toward the surface beneath the icy exterior, only now bursting forth, carrying with it all the traces and the sediment of her distempered resentment sequestered deep below. 

The masters and overseers of Korriban drilled the acolytes by ways to dismantle any and all inhibitions hindering their emotions. Lana had never quite found herself apt to yielding in such a way so exclusively to any single entity, not even her own heart. She'd always been circumspect. She'd been mindful of its precariousness, always treading deftly above the shallows for fear of misstepping into the unseen depths, knowing that she would surely be smothered by its drowning weight before she could resurface. But the looming shade of her most unsettling despair and uncertainty seized her senses, her very being—it'd held her hands shackled, tightened its binds at her feet, and shrouded her very eyes and ears behind its thickly painted veil. But all she had now _was_ her mere heart to entrust her senses to, and it'd proven to be most taxing to be led by. So long stored away, Lana had forgotten the sense of such a manner of intuitive faith. And although she would never dare to admit it—to embrace the mortal flaw of her innermost being—she'd known intimately that it had become deeply impaired in her deliberate negligence. It had been for some time now, and she'd been unable to consciously glimpse the revealing signs from her current vantage point.

Lana then completely discarded any lingering shred of inhibition, emboldened as she advanced a step toward Theron, her gaze held high before she unleashed unto him the culmination of all her ailing discontent—the very _blood_ of her wounded heart, thicker and redder than any he'd seen. And it had still been _warm_.

"When I put my faith in you to endure and survive on Rishi, you called me conniving! When I urged you to use what Master Surro had left to offer us against Vitiate, you called me cold and uncaring! What _else_ am I, Theron!? I am putting myself at the front in order to give _you_ — _all_ of you—a chance! I willingly put my life forth for all of us, and now you call me reckless."

Lana's voice sank with her words and her pleading gaze. 

"What _else_ am I...?" 

Hanging on by the thread of her scorn, her piercing eyes bore through Theron's own. "I have been called many things, Theron. By all means. Call me what you want. But I refuse to be useless—when enemies stand behind the gates and cry for the fall of your world? I _refuse_ to be made useless."

The dense air thickened unbearably around them. Theron's tightened jaw stirred as his austere thought rose from his lungs, willing him to speak.

" _Fine_."

The simple word drew the other Sith's arresting glance. That he would capitulate so easily to the Minister's distraught ravings, however unwonted, was inconceivable. The Sith expected the agent to firmly stand his ground. Lana was not herself, and he'd trusted him to realize this fully. As he shifted his attentions toward him, his discerning eyes grew wary of Theron's intentions.

"Agent Shan, is that _wise_?" he promptly questioned him, addressing the exceptional burden he simply could not bring himself to overlook. 

The Sith Lord's merest voice of vindicated concern caught Lana's immediate ire. Quick to remind her second of her authority, she responded in kind, absent of any hesitation in speaking her displeasure.

"I have not yet been removed from my position, Dark Lord." She redirected the flames of her temper to her subordinate. "I am _still_ your superior. And I have given my express order—"

While her attentions had been diverted, Theron took the opportune moment to reach for a particular item from his belt as he stepped closer toward her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, urging her to stop and turn to face him again.

"Lana, listen."

The ease of his delicate touch had been enough to pacify her, if only for a fleeting moment. He'd done so in a manner entirely contrary to the abrasive hand he'd held firm against her before. Any lingering trace of her misgivings that may have remained would be entirely banished the moment she caught sight of his penetrating gaze.

Theron willed his hand still, holding to his false camouflage of affirmation as he steeled himself for what he was about to do. Ushering her closer, his following words came gently. "I'm sorry about this..."

Before Lana could begin to process the cryptic onset of his sudden remorse, she'd felt a sharp prick at her lower back. The initial sensation had given her a minor jolt, and in the temporal seconds of her addled pause, she slipped out of Theron's hold, staggering several backward steps away from him. Her brow furrowed at the strange, darkening shade beginning to cast over her senses as her hand instinctively wandered toward the blistering sting just below her waist. Her uncertain fingers found an unfamiliar object and grasped it. It'd taken several fluttering blinks of her clouded eyes before they could find enough focus to see the emptied syringe she'd now held in her hand.

" _Theron_...?" Lana managed to utter as the sinking haze of black began to drown out her consciousness with the passing seconds. She raised her glance to peer at him in all her confounding bewilderment as the syringe slipped from her loosened fingers. 

"I'm _sorry_ ," he repeated once more in the barest breath as he carefully gauged her physical response to the mild toxin. 

Theron could read in perfect clarity the eclipsing realization that slowly filled her obscured gaze. He watched her acute responses, all the signs timing the effects of the dose that he'd learned to assess with absolute precision. Lana's attempts to deepen and control her breaths revealed the faint numbness she must have been gradually succumbing to. Knowing that even she wouldn't be able to ward off its influence despite all her concentrated efforts to overcome the toxin, Theron stood ready for when her legs would give away beneath her. When she finally collapsed, he'd deftly caught her, supporting her weight at her shoulders and waist as he lowered her carefully to the floor.

Lana's stubborn gaze never left Theron, even as he'd lain her down. She was no longer able to speak now, but she refused to let the surmounting threat of slumber carry her away. Not without a fight. It'd been a staggering swell of agony, feeling the numbing toxin claim any control she'd clung to over her own being. Lana struggled just to keep her head elevated, refusing to relinquish under Theron's unjust and unwarranted deed.

Holding every intention of remaining until her last moment of consciousness, Theron found her hand, taking it into his own. He could feel her resistance, tenacious to the very end, but he'd held his fingers firmly wrapped around hers. Whether or not she'd welcomed it any longer, he would not leave her until she was assured of his presence. To ease her struggle, he slipped his other hand beneath her neck to hold her, though he could feel her unremitting defiance even toward this gesture.

"I know you can still hear me, Lana. So listen," he spoke to her firmly, refusing to let himself shy away from her stonewalled gaze. "In less than a minute, you're going to fall asleep. I'm sorry I had to do this. And I know you're going to be mad. Fine, be mad. Say whatever you want to me when I come back." Theron tightened his hand where it grasped hers, seeing her eyes flutter as they grew heavy. "And I _am_ coming back. Okay? I need you to stay _here_...and get better soon."

Theron watched her eyes slowly fall shut, only able to hope that she'd remained lucid enough to comprehend his brief words. "You hear me, Lana?" he beckoned her gently before she slackened in his arms. 

As she finally succumbed entirely to the dosage, Theron could feel her entire weight bear down on his hands where they'd held her. Carefully shifting her in his arms, he'd maneuvered them beneath her shoulders and knees before scooping her off the floor. There'd been a seating arrangement against the nearby walls, and he paced over toward it to set Lana back down onto its sparse cushions.

Watching with the eyes of a hawk, Teff'ith remained curiously attentive from where she'd been hovering. The girl was never one of much sentiment, and she'd known her friend to have held a similar temperament himself. But the unusual care in which Theron had given toward this woman did not go unnoticed even within her bleak regard. 

At the very least, she'd noted with droll distaste the familiarity of having been subjected to one of such toxins within Theron's arsenal. She regaled in the amusing irony that he would so often turn, what had meant to be a weapon, against his closest companions. Her piquing curiosity urged her to tread from the corridor deeper into the room, but she'd done so hesitantly. Letting her discerning eyes peruse the space and its occupants first, she'd caught and exchanged the briefest glance with the male Sith lingering on its opposite end. He hadn't stirred in the least, she'd now noticed. His silence was something she'd found to be a bit unnerving, though it'd been somewhat of a refreshing shift from the company of Theron's all-too-familiar outspoken tendencies. Teff'ith merely returned a look of disinterest to the Sith Lord before steering her attention back toward her friend. 

"Hey, Teff'ith," Theron spoke as she hovered close by.

She'd very nearly bordered on meddling as she let her eyes inspect the Sith woman Theron now seemed so reluctant to leave. As he addressed her, she listlessly returned her attention to him.

"I need you to do something for me."

" _More_ favors...?" she grumbled. Her wary gaze drifted between him and the woman as she'd been unable to shake her prying interest of the curious affinity she'd sensed between them. 

"I need you to make sure Lana doesn't do anything stupid."

"Need _our_ eyes on the Sith?" she remarked cynically. "Big responsibility to give us..."

"Just do it." 

Theron's present severity caught Teff'ith quite unguarded. In her brief moment's consideration, she glimpsed as he'd lain the woman's hand back down once he slipped his own away. The care he seemed to take in doing so was not something she'd witnessed of him before. Having never seen such a temperament of his in the few years she'd known and worked with him, she'd taken it for a clear sign of how serious he'd truly been. It was an ordinary thing for either of them to be adamant and short with one another, but she folded and gave her begrudging agreement for the sake of lessening his burden, chiefly for the mission he'd soon be undertaking.

"Theron _owes_ us, then."

"Fine. Whatever. We can discuss this when I get back," he sighed dismissively as he rose from Lana's side. Without turning another look back to the Twi'lek girl, Theron swiftly steered himself to head for the lifts, ready for departure as soon as the opportunity would allow.

Teff'ith had been quite accustomed to his wry demeanor, even his occasional derisive remarks, having exchanged with him ones of her own many times before. His hardened _silence_ had been something else entirely, and it unsettled her. She steeled herself with a veil of indifference as she called to him with a final word before he'd gone.

"Theron—"

He paused in his steps, heeding her with the merest turn of his glance.

"You come _back_. Clear?"

A terse and solemn nod had been his simple response to her before he continued on, disappearing through the lift doors with the other Sith who'd been awaiting him.

Their descent to the hangar began in respectful quiescence. Hardly in any talkative mood, Theron still could not quite dismiss his curiosities about the man who served as Lana's second-in-command. He resisted every minor urge to ask him anything, inwardly convincing himself that silence had been what he required at the moment. He needed to clear his conscience, to assure himself that he'd done the right thing. In order to do so, Theron needed to quell the incessant questions and infirmities that now engulfed his every blaring thought. As much as he'd desired the silence, he'd found it to be nearly unbearable in his current state of mind. As if sensing the very anguish that he'd been coping with, the Sith had seemingly spared Theron's restless mind by his simple words that followed, shattering the punishing silence.

"Thank you." The man's words had come unexpectedly.

Theron turned his gaze toward him at his left. The man stood a few inches taller than even himself. He was of slender build, with a deeply red complexion characteristic of all pureblooded Sith. However, unlike most of his kind Theron had encountered over his career, this man did not appear to bear the menacing gaze or presence he'd seen in others. There'd been something about his rather composed demeanor that reminded him greatly of Lana's own temperament. Theron wondered momentarily if it'd been a trait of his own, or one borrowed from his superior. Whatever the case, it would seem that the man was very much an uncanny puzzle of a sort, not unlike Lana had been to him since their initial encounter. Theron's discerning eyes lingered on him warily.

"The Minister would never have agreed to stay behind. Thank you for doing what you did," he plainly voiced further.

Theron's gaze floated over the man's countenance, carrying with it his usual scrutiny before he averted his eyes and turned forward once again. 

"What did you say your name was?" he asked him curtly. Theron did not mean to sound abrupt, but he'd held little interest in anything beyond the prompt completion of their mission.

The Sith Lord straightened himself where he stood. "Bensyn."

"Bensyn," Theron repeated to himself with an acknowledging nod. "This might not be a long assignment, but we're going to be running into a lot of shit down there. I'm hoping you're going to be as easy to work with as your boss."

Drawing in a breath, the Sith raised his chin, composing himself with a display of dignified assurance. "As do I, Agent Shan." 

At the foot of his briefest pause, he turned his remote gaze to his new ally for only a moment before lowering them, just enough to bare the proof of his candor. "I've known Lana for a long time." As he spoke further, the initial austerity of his wintry temperament began to thaw. "If you've found such rapport with her, I am confident you shall also find it with me. I shall do my best to serve in the same manner as she would."

Duly surprised to learn that this Sith appeared to be an acquaintance of Lana's, Theron's eyes had been drawn back toward him by his remark. For all the questions that had begun to arise in mind, he'd resolved to withhold from asking anything beyond necessary. Theron's response, then, had been but a simple, wordless nod of accordance.

The rest of their descent was spent in mutual silence. One that had knowingly been hanging by the multitudinous threads, left loose and astray from the unasked and unanswered questions between them. It had not been until the lift had drawn to a stop at the lower levels of the hangar when the Sith Lord had once again broken the silence.

"If I may ask, Agent Shan," he spoke just as Theron passed through the open lift doors before him, "why have you taken her lightsaber?"

Theron halted in his steps only paces beyond the heavy durasteel doors. He never imagined anyone could have possibly taken notice of this, but he hadn't been entirely surprised by the man's keen observation. Theron's hand drifted to the very item in question where it'd been tucked away at the back of his belt, well-concealed beneath his jacket. Taking it into hold as he slowly turned around, he let his eyes trace over every detail of its edge and form yet again. He'd already let his bare hands trace the freshly marred and blemished body of her saber's hilt since recovering it from the debris of the battlefield's wreckage. Theron hadn't known what had happened to it, but the lightsaber ceased to function properly since its retrieval, no longer able to hold a fully emitted beam for any duration before sporadically shorting out as it malfunctioned.

"You guys got people to look at it, right?" he asked with a faint sound of lament.

Theron had almost been reluctant to part with it, despite having taken it with every intention of having it repaired. The saber hilt had been the sole item in his current reserve that he'd valued with any sentiment. While such keepsakes were few and far in between to come into his possession, he did hold a number of such treasures. This one belonged to Lana, and he'd determined to return it to her in perfect and renewed condition.

The Sith Lord held his questioning gaze for a moment longer before stepping out of the lift towards him. He silently held his hand out to accept the lightsaber. "I'll see what I can do."

Over the course of the following days, Theron had landed on the surface of the occupied planet once again with his new team of allies. The operation had been swift—while the regrouped armies held the droid forces at bay, SIS made a second attempt at infiltrating the insurgents' base of operations. Now accompanied under the protection of a Sith escort, they'd foregone their original covert approach in lieu of a far more aggressive strike. After successfully slicing into the source centrally directing the whole of the droid army, they'd dismantled their systems entirely from within. Without the power of their massive, weaponized droid fleet, the insurgents had been overwhelmed and scattered by the might of the combined Republic and Imperial armies.

Upon his return, no thought of ceremony or celebration had occupied his mind in the least. While the triumphant forces of the coalition cried and lauded in praise of their hard-earned victory over the insurgents, Theron wasted no time in seeking the presence of the single other person he was at all concerned with.

Almost immediately following his arrival back at the station, Theron had hastened over to the infirmary, only to be dismayed to find that the Sith Minister was nowhere to be found.

"She'd refused to return to the infirmary's care since your departure," he'd been told.

"You can't imagine the _hell_ that woman has been giving us, Agent Shan," another had relayed in weary displeasure.

"That Sith woman? Go ask the warden of the detention quarters."

Theron simply couldn't fathom what the pieces of these scattered stories amassed to. At the guidance of the last crewman's words, he'd hurried over to the levels of the station where any and all detainees were routinely held under strict observation. 

_Fuck, Lana. What the hell did you do...?_

He'd quickly reached the final stretch of corridors, directed to the appropriate room after a lengthy inquiry with the supervisory staff on that level. His eyes only fleetingly scanned the room numbers as they flew past his sights along his hastened, impatient gait, but he'd known once he neared the correct place when he spotted Teff'ith milling about in her stone-faced boredom at the end of one hall.

At the sound of heavy, exasperated steps, Teff'ith lifted her gaze to spot, in her mild surprise, Theron's prompt unannounced arrival. She'd been mindful of subduing her own unspeakable relief at seeing her friend return unharmed, channeling the ever-aloof rogue she'd always found the most comfort in playing.

"Finally. _Now_ you come back?" she quipped in her usual, heavy-handed cynicism as she rose to her feet.

Theron had no desire to deal with her sardonic impulses at the moment, brushing right past to peer through the observational window of the room behind her. Just as his eyes confirmed Lana's presence within, he'd been appalled to see that she bore heavy handcuffs confining her to the chair they'd been secured to.

" _Teff'ith_ —?!" he exclaimed incredulously, indignant by what he'd witnessed.

"— _You_ tell us to look! We _look_ ," she protested vehemently in defense, quite beside herself to have received such a reproachful outcry from him. She turned an indicative nod through the window at the room's lone occupant. "We make sure she don't _go_."

Teff'ith had never before seen Theron so overtaken by such a temper in the years she'd known him. His impatience, his annoyance, his exasperation—those had been common moods he'd often taken to that she'd become familiar with. But never _anger_. Not to such a degree. He'd grown silent at a total loss of words, but she could read well beyond that in the ashen expression cast over him that very moment.

"She try to steal vessel!" the Twi'lek tried to explain. "Follow _you_ —"

"—So you handcuff her and toss her into a room like _this_?!" He decried any reason she offered entirely in his disbelief. He'd known the girl to be callous and indelicate at times, but never so thoughtless as to do this.

Never quite able to deal with him in such a state, she narrowed her eyes in her own growing irritation. " _Stupid_ Theron— _never_ clear! Not _our_ idea! Ask agent friends. _Their_ ship she try to steal. Not ours!" At the snap of her snide response, she whirled herself away from him and stormed off until a hanging thought brought her to a pause. She halted amid a step to leave him a final word. 

"She's _rude_. Refuse to talk to us. We leave her be," she griped on with a nonchalant shrug while seamlessly revealing a small set of keys held between her fingers. She'd done so in a swift gesture, a skillful sleight of hand she'd used often in her many dealings with Theron in the past for the simple object of rousing his annoyance. Teff'ith casually tossed them over to him with an air of indifference. "Maybe she talk to _you_."

After deftly catching the keys in one hand, Theron watched as the irascible girl turned away once again to take her hasty leave of him. Whatever had transpired, he didn't particularly care enough to uncover. Not at the moment. 

With a heavy breath, he exhaled all his frustration in a bid to steel himself before daring to enter the room. Although her face had not been visible from the observational window, Lana was doubtlessly furious. That much, he'd been certain of. And he would wager that all her present scorn had been reserved in entirety for none other than himself.

The larger of the keys, Theron surmised was to gain access to the room. The entrance was a rather heavy door of metal, clattering quite loudly once its locks were manually disengaged. As he peered in, he could see that Lana refused to stir even at the unmistakable sound of the opening door. 

Seated with her back toward the small room's single entrance, Lana had remained adamant in her silence, unresponsive toward any who'd visited or inquired of her. Left to contemplate and wallow in her sustained contempt, she'd given no shred of regard toward any who may have entered the room. It hadn't been until upon hearing the familiar weight and stride of the approaching footsteps that she'd realized exactly who had come this time. Visibly gripped by the sting of her unforgiving nerves, Lana decidedly committed herself even more so to her steadfast silence.

As he tentatively tread closer, he'd taken each progressive step with delicate care. His observant eyes never left sight of her, watching as she drew a breath where she'd sat. A _sign_. He didn't even wonder if she'd known who her visitor was. Lana _knew_. Still, Theron dared not utter a single word to her. Not until she'd ordained it admissible to do so.

Once he reached the chairs where she'd sat, he lingered, a faceless apparition looming in her shadow. It'd been at the gentle stirring of her hand—the one shackled by the heavy cuffs to the arm of her chair—that roused him back to life, reminded of the second of the keys Teff'ith left him. Lowering to his knee, he reached forward to unlock the cuffs. He'd done so with the most meticulous patience, as though unconsciously searching to feel for any response Lana might have cared to give. Though, as it would seem, Theron's every expectation had been plainly rebuffed when it became clear that she'd given none.

For all of her obstinate desire to be angry, the barest feeling of his tender hand against her own brought such an unspeakable comfort to her stonewalled heart. Lana could not deny this—it'd threatened to undo her completely. His touch had been the shred of absolute proof her heart had longed for. Proof of his safety. Proof of his triumph. Proof of his _fidelity_. He'd given her a promise of his return, and he'd done just that. 

Even so, Lana was unwilling to let go of her anger just yet. She'd felt Theron's fingers linger after he'd slipped the heavy cuffs from her small wrist. Its weight hadn't been unbearable, but it had been more than a nuisance. He seemed himself as certain as she was that it'd surely leave a faint bruise where it had lain. She felt his hesitant hands drift over her own in what she figured was his measure of alleviating whatever discomfort he believed she'd endured. Refusing to allow him even this minor assurance, she deftly withdrew her hand from his grasp, tucking it into her other lain at her lap as she opted to tend to it herself.

Lana needed _time_ to forgive him, Theron lamented. But he'd understood, just as he had himself required it to forgive her before.

"You have something of mine," her bare voice spoke at last. Its softness had been devoid of any inviting warmth he'd come to memorize. But he knew that her coldness was only a deliberate front. A dishonest one he would willingly pardon her of. "I'd like to have it back."

At her simple request, Theron reached for the very item she demanded hanging at the back of his belt. He set the lightsaber hilt onto the table beside her, its dense body sounding in a loud rattle as it met the metal surface.

"I had another Sith take a look at it. See if it could be repaired," he explained plainly to her. "Said the internal components are too damaged." His eyes trailed the path Lana's hand had taken to retrieve her broken hilt. He watched as she'd taken her time in letting her palm and fingers trace the extent of its damage, hardly familiar anymore to the touch. "Focusing crystal seems fine, though," he added sparsely.

As Lana quietly processed what he'd relayed, she remained perfectly motionless. It was an embittering thing to absorb. Her fingers tightened around the hilt, her own _precious_ belonging, as she slipped it from the table, taking it into both hands. Holding it at her lap, she lowered her eyes to behold its wreckage—its rent and scored body, its disfigured pommel, its maimed emitter. Lana was deeply upset to have lost her treasured arm in such a way. Although, she inwardly admitted that she had not expected Theron to have done such a thing for her, having convinced herself that he'd brazenly stolen her lightsaber for the sole reason of deterring her from leaving the safety of this station. Not that it'd been at all effective in keeping her from attempting to do so anyway.

Before her resolve would completely crumble at its foundations, Lana unassumingly rose from the chair without a further word.

Theron watched her intently. Even without seeing her face, he could witness her reluctance, her willful refusal to look. There'd been many unspoken things to be read in her stark silence. He watched as she brushed past, taking her prompt leave of him as she quietly departed from the room.

For the duration of that day, as both Republic and Empire respectively reveled over the battle won, Theron found no compelling desire to share in their glory. He'd always been mindful of the simple, briefly forgotten reality of it all—this was but only _one_ battle against _one_ enemy. There'd been more work ahead to be done. He was prudent as to never forget this. And even further, on a more profound level, his longing had lain elsewhere, miles away from such present affairs. 

For the better part of that day, Theron dared not inquire of Lana. He kept his distance and left her to her devices, wherever they may be. Whether she'd returned with the masses of the Imperial troops or remained at this station, he did not know. 

The station's local time had been configured to that of the planet it orbited, and it was now late within the hours of nightfall. Whatever activity to be found onboard had been exclusive, for the most part, to the large mess halls throughout the levels of the station, where the remaining crew and fleet still awake continued on with their celebratory evening.

Theron confined himself to quiet solitude, sitting alone in an observation deck in the company of the universe visible beyond the vessel's fortified walls. The hall's lights had been dimmed with the close of the day's operations, leaving the stars beyond to illuminate what the eyes could see in this otherwise, now colorless space. If he'd focused his eyes enough, he could discern the faint image of his reflection in the perfect surface of the viewing window—the only other company to be found, and one he'd preferred to be without. However, like a cruel joke to mock his own lament, he'd known that if he'd given even a moment to avert his focus, it would inevitably only find its way back to the very single thing, the sole _person_ he'd resolved to keep peacefully out of mind.

He'd drawn his tired eyes up from his hands to peer out into the vastness once again. Seeing the same reflection he'd been staring at, he mused over his worn image, quite evident to the eyes even in the glare of the much brighter lights to be seen beyond. It decorated his face, permanently adorned in layers upon layers while the remaining vestiges of peace and calm had begun to wither with his aging spirit. The numbered years were not many, he knew, but the mileage—the _distance_ it had gone—that had been another thing entirely.

Theron was growing weary and jaded, an inevitability he'd tried to convince himself he would never reach. That he would forever remain fervent in his tenacity and loyalty to his cause, to the Republic—his home and his people. Now, he was no longer so certain. There'd been something else occupying the deepest, most profound and most poignant reaches of his thoughts, dwindling all else. He _knew_ that his heart now lied elsewhere. And ever more frequently, within the farthest depths, he'd found it in longing. The elusive fragment always seemingly absent. Always out of reach. He'd tried to recall the rare moments when he had _not_ felt its absence. How he had _tried_. It was an obscured vision he'd resolved to reveal. He would not stop grasping for it until the picture would once again begin to come into focus.

It would then appear as though the ghost herself had been summoned by his very thoughts once he'd spotted the faint vision of her unmistakable visage in the same, pristine portal from which his own gazed back. Theron had fallen so deeply into his own private world that he failed to catch any trace of her approaching steps. He'd never realized until now, how easily it had been to overlook her. The unassuming ghost she'd been, indeed.

He fixed his eyes on the reflection of her countenance as she came. Took in every nuance, every clue or signal she'd bore, unwittingly or otherwise. She appeared white in her despondence, almost as though the passing hours of that day had been spent in total grief and melancholy. He couldn't fathom that she could possibly have been so deeply affected by what he'd done and began to ponder if there had been more beneath this than he realized. Theron was no more certain of any anger that may have remained in her heart, though something compelled him to reason that she would only have come if she had been finished being angry. His gaze lingered as she came around the chair. As she came to _him_. And as if in response to the synchronous movements of the very universe, in light of the unquestionable symmetry between them, he watched as Lana took her place in the seat right beside him.

She was hesitant to take her place, no matter how rightful it had been. How rightful it had _felt_. Her eyes remained downcast, tracing over where her small hands stirred within one another. Her heart reached deep into the silence between them—in search of _what_ , she could not say. But she'd extended her hand, held her palm open and ready.

"I know...it was foolish of me to accompany the Imperial fleet I deployed. They even urged me to remain on the flagship in order to properly oversee the operation." 

The voice that came forth was as small and subdued as Theron had ever heard of her.

"But...the moment I realized the danger you'd fallen into on the surface..." Lana's fingers stirred upon the anxious thought. "...I couldn't stay behind."

Sensing her deep reticence, Theron patiently allowed her to speak what she'd meant to say.

She then drew a sharp breath. "It would appear that my second has performed outstandingly in my place," she mused stiffly. "He may succeed me yet."

"Lucky for you, he isn't out to take your job," Theron remarked with assurance, having come to witness with ample familiarity the kind of character the man had held. He had been every bit the pragmatic and cooperative emissary as Lana had ever been. "Seems like a decent guy. Shouldn't be surprised—you're good at picking them."

While Theron's light words had been spoken with the intention of quelling her anxieties, they merely reminded her of her past failings. "After my errors with Rane Kovach, I learned to be more discerning," she spoke bitterly. The memory of Ziost was far off, but it still remained present enough to scald.

"Don't need to tell me twice..." he uttered in his own distaste, as the conniving agent had misled them both.

Lana pressed her lips together in a bid to banish away her unrest burrowed deep within. She'd come for the sole purpose of sharing these very words, but the closer she'd tread along their boundaries, the more she'd grown disheartened by them. 

"I came..." Against her own misgivings, she willed herself forth. "...I came because..." Lana stopped upon an inward breath, drifting along the heart-wrenching swell that had shaken her very foundations.

As he patiently awaited her words, Theron looked on with great remorse and trepidation to see how upset she appeared to be. Surely, he could not have been the reason for her present bereavement.

Although her tears had not yet come, she'd trembled upon another sharp breath, impulsively bringing her hand to the corner of her eye. 

"I received a letter five days ago." She was fighting to hold herself upright now, and it was a losing battle. Unable to say more, she held her breath as she reached into her breast pocket, pulling from it a single, folded paper. She held it in her two hands as her eyes errantly glazed over it. She'd memorized its grievous contents by heart, its poignant words unforgettably immortalized within her being. Silently, she passed it over to Theron.

He gently drew the slip of paper from her trembling grasp, far too telling to ignore. Theron was tentative about peering into its contents, but he'd done so only at her silent urging. As his eyes scanned over the message written in the letter, his lips parted at the realization of the news it related.

 

_Addressed to Minister Lana Beniko of Sith Intelligence:_

_We regret to inform you that on the 7th day of the Second Month, in the year 14 ATC, the Empire has suffered the loss of three passenger starliners by insurgent offensives, upon which, confirmed among civilian casualties was the loss of the eminent Lord Beniko of Dromund Kaas..._

 

 _'Lord Beniko'..._ Theron considered this only momentarily before he realized of whom the letter spoke. Turning his slow gaze back to her, he offered a look of deep condolence. 

"Lana, I'm sorry..."

Another breath hitched at the back of her throat as she strove to continue. What urged her further had not been a desire to say more. She was blindly grasping for a foothold, for _anything_ that could help her carry forward bearing the teeming weight of her grief. The only person she could even consider turning to was the man who presently sat at her side. When the rest of the universe continued on its course with no regard, Theron would stop and wait for her. _No_ , he would be right there with her to pick the scattered pieces of herself back up.

"I had no idea. That ship that carried him was destroyed in a skirmish...that took place more than two _weeks_ ago." Lana's voice broke with every sob she'd tried with such effort to subdue. "And they waited until now to tell me."

She'd become tense and withdrawn, clearly struggling with every shred of her discipline to keep herself composed. To think that even now, even in _his_ presence, away from the eyes and ears of other Sith, other Imperials, Lana tried so hard to push aside her emotions. She'd done all this, pressed beneath the punishing weight of this insurmountable grief. He was not someone she needed to pretend for, he felt compelled to assure her. 

A moment passed between them before she brought herself to speak again. 

"I always thought," she uttered in a whisper, "how nice it would be..." Lana smiled at the very burgeoning thought from the depths of her heart, but it had been a rueful one. "...That perhaps there might come one day when I...when I may invite you to see Dromund Kaas. See my home. And to meet _Papa_."

Her smile soon became eclipsed by the onset of her sorrow, as though the very mention of her father had been all it'd taken to tear down what remained of the pillar she'd held herself up against. 

"I apologize... How...how inane that must sound." She gave an unprompted, tearful laugh, feeling slightly foolish of the idea just as she'd voiced it.

"Lana...no," Theron gently offered his assurance. He'd never known, never supposed that she'd ever harbored any sentiment of the sort. To consider ever setting foot on Dromund Kaas for any reason outside of the political—it hadn't sounded nearly as contrived as she'd led herself to believe. 

She sniffed on an oncoming sob, her voice waning as she spoke. "I have only ever had few friends. And Papa had never met a single one of them. They've all died. Just like him." The painful finality of her words had been her undoing. For all the times she'd reviewed the letter, for all the times she'd reiterated the words in her mind, it had not been until she'd _spoken_ them when they had finally sunken in.

Unable to contain her grief any longer, Lana's sobbing began to swell as her expression crumbled. Still, she'd tried to cling to what dignity she held fast to, bringing her hand to her eyes as she convulsed under the pressure of her weeping tears.

"...I just _couldn't_...couldn't bear the thought of losing another..." Her voice trailed into silence as it cracked and broke over her shortened, uncontrollable breaths. As if the very act of mourning were the most shameful thing, Lana couldn't move her hand away from her face. She'd slowly withered, withdrawing away from Theron. To weep like this had been an infringement against every lesson, every value and teaching the Sith had ordained.

Initially, Theron had felt it proper to give her space to grieve as she needed, but now he'd been compelled to cross the threshold of her desolate solitude and occupy the void. 

"Lana..." he called to her as he extended his hand to her shoulder in a bid to console her, only to see her gently turn away.

Afraid of bringing any part of this burden upon him, she'd decidedly consigned herself to suffer and wallow in her anguish as penance for her own weakness. Theron's senses had grown well-attuned to her own by now, and he'd ably seen through her foolishness. He refused to let her do this to herself and gently urged her closer. 

" _Lana_."

Without any remaining will to offer any further resistance, she slackened as he drew her in. She shut her eyes tightly as she felt his embrace envelop her. It had been a foreign feeling, one she realized she hadn't felt the comforts of in far too long. The last man she'd felt such warmth in the arms of was that of her beloved father when she'd still been a girl. The memory felt distant now, but in Theron's arms, she'd been tenderly reminded of the warmth she'd very nearly forgotten. One that her heart now ached and longed for desperately, in spite of what her unassailable conscience professed. 

In a seamless motion, Lana fell completely into Theron, the only morsel of strength to be found in that room, that shared space. Against him, she'd felt utterly empty and small. But there, in his arms, she'd also felt _safe_.

"It's okay, Lana." He tightened his hold, making his pure sentiment known and clear to her—that she need not be afraid or ashamed around him. He'd meant to let her know that she had every liberty to be _human_ , having been permissive of such privileges toward him herself, whether or not she had even realized it. 

He gently tucked her head against his shoulder as she wept. Even as she cried, Lana was serene and quiet, but he could feel her shaking frame, much smaller and much more delicate in his arms than he would have ever imagined. 

As though she'd finally loosened herself from every last tie that kept her bound, he began to feel her respond at last. Theron felt her longing hands reach around his shoulder and back, bearing down on him tightly as though to borrow the very strength and fortitude he bore within himself. He would offer it all this moment if it were possible. If it would mend her heart.

While her enduring grief hadn't been at all lifted, her heart had been filled by a great sense of ease, placated by the feeling, by the counterpart she'd been so long without. It'd begun to surface from inside her, quelling the disquiet and turmoil that had uprooted her very being. Lana was certain that no session of meditation, no prayer, no act of providence by the Force could have given her as much comfort as she'd now felt that very moment.

Theron remained unmoving until Lana quieted. Until her tears ran dry. He hadn't counted the minutes it'd taken for her heart to reclaim its peace. Once she'd calmed, he drew away. Peering at her, he could see just how weary her reddened eyes had become, swollen from her tears. 

"I'm so sorry. I..." she uttered her remorse for such an imposition she'd thrown unto him. " _Thank you_ , Theron."

"Don't apologize," he answered on a soft breath, only relieved to see her grief tempered. "You know...it's late, Lana. You should probably get some rest."

While she had indeed been exhausted, her mind remained quite restless. She shook her head at the very thought of trying to force any sort of repose unto herself in her current state, but she'd been quite finished with defying Theron's any further considerations. 

"I suppose I should return to the infirmary. I'd said some rather...cross words against the staff there. I should apologize to the poor nurses," she jested with the faint spark of her returning humor.

" _No_. No, you're not...you're not spending another night in that danky place," Theron insisted, knowing fully how uncomfortable it was to be confined to the ward. He'd also been duly reminded by her remark that Lana still had not been provided with a proper room on the station during his absence.

"Come on," he urged as he rose to his feet. "Let's go—you're coming to _my_ room."

With no strength or poise to say otherwise, Lana simply nodded, earnestly thankful for his invitation. She rose and followed his lead out of the observation deck through the adjoining corridor.

"And I'm gonna find out who's genius fucking idea it was to lock someone, barely recovering from head trauma, in an observation room cuffed to a chair."

Lana lowered her eyes as she followed. It had been her own misconduct that prompted such treatment in the first place. This, she was in full admittance of. 

"Theron, it's fine. Your comrades had only done so to stop me from doing something foolish. You must forgive them." She paused, certain that her words had not been quite sufficient in placating his exasperation. "Had it been you who remained in the custody of the Empire in my absence...you would not have seen such comforts."

"I don't _care_ about that. This isn't the way the Republic treats people," he insisted abruptly.

Theron came to a halt in his steps once he felt Lana's hand ease along his forearm.

"Consider, then. Here I am—well and in perfect health. All because of the efforts of your companions. However misguided." She offered a familiar, sweet hint of a smile. "Don't be angry with them, Theron."

The sight of her benign countenance had been more than enough to persuade him. His eyes then drifted downward to where her hand had lain, every bit as gentle in its grasp. Just along the edge of her sleeve, he spotted the mild discoloration of the bruise the handcuffs had left. Theron reached to take hold of her hand, brushing his thumb delicately over her wrist. This had been the gesture Lana denied him from the start. Though she'd held no such objection now, he felt her tense beneath his touch.

Lana had grown nervous by this secondary sensation, nearly forgotten in the shade of her momentous grief. It'd been all too familiar to her, and it been the very thing that cast her into the throes of doubt and trepidation just as soon as it'd taken hold of her heart. She stirred, carefully loosening her hand from his own before turning a renewed mask of a smile to him. "Your room must not be far now, is it?" she tactfully reminded him.

"Yeah. Just...just down this hall," he quietly answered as he continued to lead the way.

They'd fallen back into silence for the rest of the brief walk to his quarters. Once Theron reached his door, a moment of déja vu overcame him when he'd proceeded to unlock his door. _Yes_ , this had been quite familiar. Although last time, the roles had been somewhat reversed. Upon his sudden recollection of that particular night, he'd determined to quickly show Lana to the bed and leave her to take her rest without any disturbance.

Unlike the lodgings to be found in the posh hotels of Coruscant, the dormitories of orbital stations like these were much more utilitarian. The room he'd been given was not terribly small, but it had none of the lush extravagances and comforts of any hotel suite. It'd been quite enough for Theron, having grown accustomed to the humble bearings of such domiciles.

"So, just make yourself comfortable. I'll—" 

Just as Theron looked up from his small desk by the door where he'd stopped to set some belongings down, he'd seen that Lana had already done just that, taking a seat on the carpeted floor against the foot of his bed. He paused with a look perplexed amusement. "...Guessing...you're not ready to sleep yet."

With a perfectly innocent smile, she shook her head.

It'd taken some effort to keep from laughing aloud. Even when she'd reasonably had no energy to spare, Lana still somehow managed to keep him on his toes. Relenting to her whims, he'd done the same as her, lowering himself to the floor to sit against the adjacent wall.

" _Tired_ , yes. But not sleepy." She leveled her eyes toward the floor without any particular focus. "I suppose I'm...just worn out from all that...maudlin..." Without finishing her thought, she'd let the words drift away into the great breath she'd taken in. As she dropped her head backwards against the end of the bed's mattress, she drew her knees up into herself, lacing her hands together over them. 

"I can't even _think_ about sleep," she whispered aloud. Slowly, Lana opened her eyes to the plain expanse of the ceiling above. Barely audible, her lips had uttered faintly of her father as thoughts of him returned to mind. " _Papa_..."

Watching her, Theron grew concerned by her returning look of lament. As though in an unhindered response to his anxiety, Lana opened her eyes and peered over at him. His expression had been as clear as the written word, prompting her to offer a gentle, airy laugh.

"No more tears, Theron. I promise. My eyes have become dry enough of them. I just..." Pulling herself upright, she straightened against the edge of the bed before lowering her gaze once again. "...I already miss him. How terrible I've been. I hardly ever wrote home. I can't remember the last correspondence I've sent..." 

All the certain little details began to resurface upon her deep recollection. In her distinct habitual manner, she'd allowed her eyes to drift into the distance to the depths of her thoughts yet again. This had been a tendency of hers that Theron had grown to memorize innately from all the conversations he'd held with her. He watched as the gentle light of a smile came to her lips as she appeared to recall whatever thoughts her heart had beckoned.

"You would have loved Papa. He was a _sweet_ man."

"Yeah?" Theron smiled. "Kinda...makes me think of _my_ old man."

"Your father?" she asked, never quite certain of who he meant when he spoke of his relations. He rarely ever did speak of any. Just as well, since she herself had been no less taciturn about such matters.

"My master," he clarified, "who was...my father, more or less. The old coot did raise me."

Realizing that Theron had _never_ once spoken of his master in any conversation shared between them, Lana's smile beamed upon a curiosity. "Tell me about him."

"My master?" He ran his fingers through his mess of hair, giving his scalp an idle little scratch. Theron generally had little cause and even less of a desire to say much about the old man. It hadn't been for any of the resentful reasons he'd held against speaking of either of his birth parents. In fact, his memories of his master had all been quite dear to him. Considering this, he'd realized why he'd been so reticent about sharing such a private piece of himself to anyone before. But just as he'd steered his gaze to glimpse Lana's expectant smile, he also realized all the compelling reasons why he now felt inclined to share it all in its entirety.

"Well... What's there to say...?" he mused to himself, trying to decide where was appropriate to start. "Mom gave me up. So he took me in," he spoke in his usual candid sarcasm. "He was her first master. Trained her when she was still a Padawan."

"He must have been a talented Jedi Knight himself, then."

Theron shrugged with a hint of aloof humor. "I wouldn't know. The old fart was _supposed_ to have been retired by the time I came into the picture."

" _’Supposed’_ to have been?" she inquired curiously.

" _Well_..." Theron paused once all memories of his old master's misadventures came back into mind. There'd been a whole _stew_ of tales to be told, there.

Lana laughed, raising her hand in dismissal. "I see. He was a bit of a mischief-maker, was he?"

"Kind of like _someone_ I know," he quipped in a light tease.

Offering a pretended look of offense, she raised her eyebrows at his sly remark. "This—coming from a man who stole a Sith's _lightsaber_..." she murmured in idle humor as she revealed the hilt currently in her possession. With a playful toss from the hand, she'd retrieved it dexterously enough to escape Theron's immediate notice.

As he lazily raised his eyes back to her, he froze at the sight of the weapon that seemed to have suddenly phased in out of nowhere. " _Whoa_ —why...exactly do you still have that thing with you?"

"You sound like when we'd first met on Manaan," Lana commented in her droll wit as she redirected her clever gaze back to him. "Oh, don't give me that look. It'd been stolen _once_ already. I would be remiss to allow that to happen _again_."

Theron rolled his eyes with a snicker of a laugh.

"I'll never forgive you for that, you know."

"Well. I guess we can call it even, then."

Lana's playful caprice simmered as she turned her attentions back to the saber hilt held in her hand. With a sigh, she briefly lamented the casualty of her misfortune. She would not be able to replace it until she returned to Dromund Kaas. _Yes..._ There'd been much to do once she returned to Dromund Kaas. Upon the heavy gloom of such sobering thoughts, her smile dulled once again.

As he watched Lana drift back into herself, Theron took the moment to push himself back to his feet. Walking over to the nightstand beside his bed, he opened its top compartment and retrieved an item from it. "Lana," he called to draw her attention before he tossed the object over to her.

With perfect reflexes, she caught the object in her opposite hand. Holding it in her view to examine with scrutiny, she was astonished to realize that it appeared to be another lightsaber. "Theron, what's this?" she inquired with surprise as she turned to him.

"My master's old lightsaber," he answered simply as he returned to the spot against the wall he'd been sitting at. "To replace yours with."

"Theron—I...I can't possibly take something like this—"

"It's fine, Lana. You can have it."

"Theron, no."

"It's just been collecting dust. What am I ever gonna do with it?"

" _Theron_. Please—I can't take it."

Of course he should have expected this from Lana. Theron released a benign sigh and smiled.

"Look. He gave me his lightsaber before he died. Called it...my 'inheritance.' The hell if I knew why." He'd nearly scoffed in laughter at his afterthought.

Before Lana could begin to protest again, he halted her words as he continued. "All I know is...he would have loved if the damn thing could be put to _some_ good use."

She drew in a tentative breath. "I don't imagine your master would have liked to know that your 'inheritance' would be entrusted to a _Sith_..."

"Maybe not," he shrugged. "But he wouldn't object to it being used to _protect_ someone."

Puzzled by the meaning of his words, Lana turned her gaze.

"I'm giving this to you to protect yourself with."

" _Theron_ —"

"—I'd consider that being put to good use."

At his insistence, Lana finally allowed herself to acquiesce. What was she to do—discard the gift Theron intended for her? She pressed her lips together as she conceded to his sentiment. Upon a passing thought, Lana then opted to examine the Jedi's old lightsaber. She let her fingers and palms trace its unfamiliar shape while she searched its surface for the component she'd been looking for. Discovering the correct switch, she released the hatch of the saber's inner chamber, revealing the aged, but relatively pristine crystal within.

"Then you must keep _this_ ," she urged, holding his master's crystal in her open palm. This would be her only condition for accepting such a gift.

He pondered on the gesture for a moment before he came to an accord. Leaning himself forward, he extended his hand to retrieve the crystal from hers. "Done."

While Theron mulled over the tiny, miraculous gem in his hand, Lana removed her own from the broken hilt and proceeded to install it in her newly acquired replacement. He'd been quite absorbed in the memories behind the small treasure, only drawn back to the present moment once he'd felt the tap of a rolling object stop at the edge of his foot. He looked to see Lana's old saber hilt there on the floor and questionably took it into his hand.

"Yours," she told him simply. "Or you may discard it if you like. It won't be of use to _anyone_ anymore."

As he looked it over, a mirthful little grin swelled across his features. "You kidding? A _Sith's_ lightsaber—that's the big daddy of battlefield loot," he mused in jest. "I'm keeping this in a fancy little box at home."

Theron's playful remark began to rouse her own smile back. "And I take it you'll invent some fantastical tale regaling how you'd come to acquire such a prize?"

"Hell yeah, I will."

"You'll allow me, then, to contribute embellishments of my own?" she beamed with a light of mischief.

Theron responded with a dubious look.

"It was my lightsaber to lose," she asserted, "I should have _some_ say."

"...It's gotta be epic. That's my only criteria," he relented in a pretended sulk.

Lana laughed at his well-reasoned terms. "Fair enough. Then you must promise to tell this story to all your acquaintances. And do be gentle with the saber if you are to flaunt it around."

Theron's own smile grew sedate beneath a new layer of candor. "...Something that belonged to you—I'm taking good care of it."

Tightening her grasp around Theron's gift in her hands, Lana lowered her gaze toward it with utmost tender care. "And I shall be certain to take good care of something so precious of yours."

He peered over to her across the small space separating them. Read her delicate countenance. Her subtle gestures. As she was, Lana appeared the very portrait of the most ephemeral coalescence of the colors and strokes of the mind's vision. He'd crossed through the very boundaries of her turbulent horizon, on through the threshold to peer into the obscured core, shrouded by the swirl of happenings and circumstance of the revolving existence all around. He imagined it was like peering into the core of a star. A collapsed one. Drawn into its far-reaching pull, he'd now come too close to escape its grasp. Unlike living stars, one couldn't know with certainty what lied at the core of a collapsed one. But as Theron learned to forego his dread, to forget the fear and the hazards of the unknown, his eyes began to look. He'd begun to _feel_. And though he'd come far enough past the event horizon where the light could no longer reach and guide him, he could say with certainty that even the collapsed star's core still _burned_ with warmth.

"...You know," he began to speak upon a passing whim. He held up the crystal between his thumb and forefinger toward the dim light, enough to catch its gentle blue hue. "On Dantooine, there's this cave. Where the Jedi used to extract crystals for their sabers." He mused over the thought as it floated over him. "I think it's been abandoned for a long time now. The _Crystal Cave_."

Lana set down the hilt she'd held in her hands and watched him as she listened intently.

"You guys use synthesized crystals, right?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"You ever been to one? A natural crystal cave?"

Lana gently shook her head.

Idly flicking the crystal from his fingers, Theron caught it with the same hand. "Well, put that one on your bucket list. It's a hell of a thing to see."

As the faintest color of a smile tinted her countenance, she mused over the playful thought. "...I'm afraid I don't know _where_ it is. You'll have to take me, then."

Theron's own smile grew across his features, mirroring hers as he lingered on the very idea. "Yeah. Guess I'll have to." 

The trail of his thoughts then veered on a tangent, prompting him to continue along on the curve. "You know, one the best times I've had... The old coot took me camping there. On Dantooine. Have you ever been there?"

Again, Lana shook her head. While the planet was located in a sector quite close to the Imperial borders, there had been little reason to ever journey to its reaches.

"It's beautiful. Hard to believe a place like that ever had any history of violence," Theron pondered over what he'd known of its past. "But, you know, it was ages and ages ago. Out there, it's all...fields and plantations. Stretches of woodland. Small towns in between. One of those...almost untouched gems, you know? Not a whole lot of those kinds of places left in the galaxy."

The image he'd drawn enchanted the grace of her smile back to her lips. "It sounds lovely."

"More than you know without having seen it for yourself." Theron gave a fond little laugh. "Dantooine's got these amazing sunsets," he detailed, gesturing with his open hands as he recalled the spectacular sight to memory. "Especially when you're standing out in the fields. And these...trails that follow along the creeks and on through the woods... It's a hell of a hike—just seeing what's along the path." The lulling drone of placid reminiscence then cast itself over his meandering gaze. "How quiet it gets. Not... _silence_. But it's calm. Peaceful. A really good place to be alone."

"Like some...secluded hermitage for those... _superficially_ bohemian types?" she added in her gentle brand of humor. "For those who are privileged to do so to withdraw from their indulgence at the whim of their pleasure—to...reflect on the state of the self and the universe—paint their paintings and compose their odes in tribute to the vain solitude they've taken refuge in...?" Lana sang her words with great amusement, playfully mocking the very thought in all her satirical implications. All with a most unassuming laugh and an impeccably disarming smile.

"Well, it doesn't seem like it's caught on with those crowds yet," Theron played along in her humor. "Hope it stays that way."

"Ah. An unpretentious place, not yet sullied by the pretentious masses." She shifted her smile inwardly at the comical sentiment. Upon her earnest consideration, she'd become quite enamored by the world he'd described to her. "...It sounds like a place I would love to visit one day."

"Yeah?" Spotting the deep contemplation in her countenance clearly pictured through her envisioning eyes, he smiled. "We should, then."

Theron's deliberate choice of words did not elude Lana in the least, drawing her gaze back to his own. The earnest smile he bore was akin to a promise. She returned his gesture, offering her most demure nod in accordance to his profound courtesy. "...I'd like that."

Once again, a pause of silence came between them. A momentary bout of contemplation on both parts. And a lingering idea, reeling at the very edge of their thoughts. As it so often came to be, Lana had been first to disrupt the silence. 

"Of the... _ephemeral_ Jedi Master..." she hummed thoughtfully as the curiosity returned to mind, "...the one who'd mentored the Grand Master herself. Who'd raised another... _troublesome_ boy from birth—one who'd lacked all marked talents, of which this master's _finest_ pupil had been most renowned to have been consummately adept above all else—the most _divine_ irony being—that boy had been this pupil’s very own _son_..." Lana regaled her interlude into her burgeoning thought with colorful theatrics. Though she'd known it had always been a rather sour subject to mention around Theron, her manner about it had been perfectly benign in its humor, absent of any hint of mockery or farce.

"Yeah...lay all that salt over the wounds, why don't you?" he uttered in his droll amusement.

Her wits had paid off grandly as she glimpsed the impulse of a smile on his face, drawing a swell of wholehearted laughter from deep within her own store of delight.

Seeing her endearing radiance in all its natural and befitting charm, he'd been glad for its return. In a gentle gesture, he pointed his forefinger toward her with a knowing smile. "...There she is. There's the Lana Beniko I know."

There'd come another beat when their eyes lingered upon their shared cues. Again, Lana spoke first. It would seem that with each time she'd traversed the silence, the step had become that much smaller. No longer such a daring leap, it'd become that much easier to cross the distance.

"So. Won't you, then...care to enthrall me with the stories of... _who_ this man was?" she pressed her lips together, subduing her eager smile in all of her earnest desire to hear this novel tale. "Tell me about _your_ father."

With so much he could say, Theron took a moment to consider where to possibly begin. He searched his mind, his _heart_ , to decide on what would be pertinent to share in the allotted, dwindling hours of that night. 

"He... He had this _thing_ ," he began vaguely, still reaching for the wayward prelude upon which he would appropriately start. 

"...So I...had a couple of rough years growing up. I mean, you know already—turned away from the Order and all. I never really could admit it, but it was upsetting. And I was...I was bitter, you know? Still stings a little to this day."

For all the callous indifference Theron had toted in the past, Lana suspected that these were the private, honest thoughts that he'd rarely, if ever, so openly shared with any other soul.

"But I was thankful for one thing," he continued with a look of distant fondness. "That old man...he hung in there. For me. Gave up...the better part of his retirement to keep my ass off the streets... Out of juvie... Out of..." Theron paused with a break of laughter, "...well, as many fights and that sort of crap as he could."

Lana's gentle laugh followed. "I imagine you must have been a _rambunctious_ boy."

"Yeah, that's probably the nicest way I've ever heard someone put it." With a shrug, he smiled to himself as he trailed the path his thoughts sought to take. 

"So, there was something he...kind of made a habit of. For both of us. As often as he could...and especially on the crappiest days, he'd always...sit around. Usually sometime before bed. And he'd...he'd just talk to me. Not about anything in particular, really. He'd say anything. A lot of it was just his usual rambling old-man-stuff.

"He'd, uh...talk about some random old memory 'back in the day, when he was a punk kid my age.'" Theron evoked his old master's droll mannerism as he recalled his familiar words in verbatim. "Or...he'd tell me about the walk he took earlier that afternoon. The stuff he'd seen. The weather. Some kids at the park who'd invited him to come play."

The further he reached into the memories, the more clearly its projection manifested before his fleeting gaze. "I'd sit and listen. And he'd...stop and look at me when he was done. _'So that's my story. What's yours?'_ " 

Theron turned to Lana, whose sound and observant regard remained tethered to his words. "You know, I wasn't like him. I couldn't...just pull shit out of my ass to ramble on about like he did."

She gave a breath of faint laughter. "I suppose it takes a certain talent."

"He called it 'experience,'" he remarked with vivid memory. " _'Don't feel bad you got nothin' to say, boy. You're only this full of stories when you get as old as me.'_ " Theron let out a blithe laugh before turning back to her. 

"It sounds stupid. But it meant something. One of those things you don't completely get when you're a kid. It was his way of reminding me—all the reasons why I...shouldn't be so hostile. So full of resentment. It didn't always work as well as it should have, I suppose. I was still a little punk walking out that door every day." Theron shook his head as he reflected on his own childish vanity from then. "But for those few hours each night—you know, I _did_ forget about all that stuff for a while."

As his thoughts recounted the significance of all these shared conversations he'd had with his master, he realized just how much of its essence had been lost on him then. Even though he reasoned that it was all a forgivable youthful imprudence, he began to lament over his own past oversights. The following pause had been drawn out a moment longer than he'd meant for it to. He wouldn't have noticed if Lana had not been so gracious as to patiently wait for him to continue.

"And it was never really about _what_ we talked about. I mean, it didn't really matter. That old fart talked about everything," Theron mused as he returned to the trail of his thoughts. 

"It was... It was like reminding you that there was always this place for you. Somewhere to feel warm... At home. You know, it's like...stories by the fireside... Gathering around the hearth... Like a way of reminding yourself where it is. The hearth. The place you can always return to."

The context of language was important, Theron understood. But in this moment, he'd also come to understand that conversations like these—like ones he'd shared with Master Ngani Zho, ones he'd shared with _Lana_ —they had always been beyond mere language. Or, more than that of mere _words_. The conversations shared between people were not the same as those shared between _beings_. Within the movements of wayward glances, the subtle gestures of the hands, the rise and fall of breaths and voice, one could discern _more_ beneath the words. Words were merely a conduit for the spirit—one among _many_ means and possibilities. Theron had realized what his master had meant to do when he'd begin such conversations with him. It'd been the very same thing he had unwittingly been doing for Lana. To bear one's _heart_. An act of empathy. Of regard. Of _faith_.

_No_ , Theron was certain it had been something even beyond any of that.

Along the fringes of his heart's most elusive philosophical sentiments, Theron found them graduating once again to the very subject he could never entirely expel. He now began to understand the intent that always led his master's every word and act toward him. Master Ngani Zho had been the only other to have thoroughly _known_ Theron most profoundly through every ridge and chasm of his being. And just as his master had always held his heart open to his dearest boy, Theron learned from his compassion and followed by example.

Never had he bore his heart in such a way to any other. Not before _Lana_. And he'd only been inclined to in response to bearing witness to her very own. He'd seen just how delicately she'd held it in her two hands, a pair much smaller than his own. How she cradled it, drawing it to herself with such care. Such _trepidation_. She'd kept it hidden in those two hands for so long, and he'd never even known. But Theron was all too familiar with her guarded uncertainty. It'd been peering into a most pristine reflection, he'd now realized, as the disturbed waters finally came to a calm. And he lamented the look of doubt he'd seen. Of apprehension. Of fear. Lana should never be afraid. Not around him. Not when he himself had nothing to fear in her.

A blink of the eyes drew Theron back to their private space. Lana appeared to excuse him his sudden lapse in presence, offering the most serene smile of her seemingly infinite patience. She'd been sitting only a mere footfall away from him in this room, and although the expanse had closed its distance between them greatly over the course of their shared time, she still remained just beyond his hands' reach. The final step would be hers to take, he'd now come to realize.

"Your master..." she murmured in a hush. "It sounds like he had been a very... _insightful_ man. If not somewhat whimsical with his wisdom." Her sweet little laugh followed. "Life can always use a touch of caprice, can't it?"

"...You know, the old man would've really liked you. He loved Teff'ith—that one, I _still_ don't get," Theron shrugged in mild humor, shaking his head. "If he had room in that big heart of his for that crabby girl, he would've loved _you_."

"You think so?"

"Well, if you can stand all his teasing..." he quipped with a perk of his brows.

A deviant gleam filtered her gaze as she directed a knowing glance back to her host. " _Oh_. If I could endure _your_ backhanded ridicule, I'm certain a sweet old man's jests would be nothing short of a delight."

" _Whoa_. 'Ridicule'?" he blinked at her remark. "Some strong words, there."

"What would _you_ call it, then?"

"I don't know— _banter_?"

Lana's expression ran dry at his coy obliviousness. "You must have lost all capability of distinguishing between harmless quips, and blatant, unadulterated _sarcasm_. Unsurprising, considering your preference for such vernacular."

Despite the obvious humor beneath their exchange, Theron momentarily acknowledged the glimmer of truth in her comment. He'd been more than aware of his own string of less-than-kind remarks he'd spoken of her in the past. Softening his expression with a tinge of assurance, Theron then lowered his eyes with a thoughtful consideration. "Has there ever been anything I've said that's upset you, Lana?"

Catching the shift in his tone, Lana hadn't been entirely prepared for such a question. "Your jests can be a bit harsh sometimes," she answered rather stiffly, hesitant of her own feelings with such little time to consider them. "But I know you only mean well."

He'd known her well enough to know when she'd been hiding behind her courtesies. "...I'll try to ease up on some of it a little," he gently offered in earnest.

Uncertain if she'd come across in some unintended manner, Lana drew her eyes to him and responded in haste. "No. Theron, it's...it's fine—"

"No, Lana—I know. I can be a bit of a jerk. Like Amy says." He gave a small laugh, recalling his friend's offhanded jest. "I'm sorry."

His rather sincere and unprompted apology was quite unexpected, but she'd appreciated his intentions deeply. "That's very considerate of you, Theron. Thank you."

An air of humor returned to him as the weight of the moment's passing candor lifted from their shoulders. "You think _I'm_ harsh? What old fart do you suppose I picked it up from?"

Lana paused and raised her gaze with a cavalier cynicism. "I don't believe you,” she answered him simply with a hint of a tease. "And shame on you—for sullying your old master's name like that!"

The comical irony of her response had been perfection. Theron could only imagine his master's reaction had he been present to hear a word of this. The old man would surely be bawling, rolling on the floor in a fit of laughter himself. It had been profoundly lamentable to know that he would never have the pleasure of meeting Lana Beniko. He was _certain_ that the old man would have simply adored her.

As her laughter waned, Lana drew the back of her hand over her mouth, a reflex in response to an oncoming yawn. She sighed as it passed and half-mindedly rubbed her eyes, still dried and slightly reddened from earlier. Seeing this suddenly reminded Theron of the late hour, prompting him to end the night at last in order to allow Lana her much needed sleep.

"Hey. You ready for bed, there?" he asked her softly.

She turned to him. The thought hadn't even occurred to her until hearing him mention it. Though now, she couldn't possibly deny her growing exhaustion and gently nodded in resignation with a drawn-out sigh. Taking Theron's cue as he rose to his feet, she'd done the very same.

"Well. Bed's right there. Go ahead and get comfy," he nodded at the mattress she'd been seated against. Theron reached for his keys and some small items he'd left on his desk. "Let me know if you need anything, okay?" he told her simply just as he turned for the door.

Already climbing into the covers, Lana paused upon seeing him about to depart. "Theron, where are you going?"

Caught unguarded by her sudden question, he stopped in the middle of accessing his door's terminal to redirect his attention. 

"Well, you can...have the room to yourself," he murmured tentatively. He'd entirely intended to grant her the private use of his room without so much as a moment's consideration. Lana's seeming objection drew his bewildering curiosity to ponder what she could be imagining in mind instead.

"Where will you sleep...?" she asked him with addled concern.

Theron shrugged. "I can find a couch out in the commons," he answered casually, pointing out the door in a loose gesture.

Lana was nearly shocked to hear him remotely entertain such an idea. "Don't be ridiculous. Come lie down," she urged at her sweet insistence as she pulled the covers open.

His expression blanched at hearing what she'd suggested, despite her innocent intent. Before he could even utter a response, Lana had already shifted over in his bed, making extra room on the adjacent side for him.

"...Are you... _sure_? I mean, it's fine, Lana. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"You'd banish yourself from your own room just for me?" she pointed out in gentle humor, laughing delicately at its absurdity. "Surely, I wouldn't find _any_ sleep, then." In light of her own jest, she'd bore the most candid and sincere of intentions. She refused to permit him to do this. 

"Theron, please—come," she urged once again, nodding at the ample space she'd created beside her own.

Quite abashedly, Theron conceded to her insistence and drew away from the door. The whole of the small room had been taken back into silence while he made his way over and climbed into the empty space she'd relinquished to him. Before pulling the covers up, he reached for a switch on his console by the bed to shut off the lights, holding to his prudence in avoiding any of Lana's wayward glances that might've caught him in her sights. Even more so, he'd been mindful of keeping his own away from _her_.

As if it were a matter of curious relativity, all things always appeared to slow in the darkness. Lana was certain it’d been the merest minutes that passed since the lights had gone, but it'd felt ostensibly longer. It’d been a cryptic thing—how the tired mind often seemed to awaken most once the lights had been extinguished. How it’d seemed to relish the darkness. As if the absent sight of the physical confines had been enough to fool the mind into believing they were no longer existent. 

While such observations were hardly true in the tangible, physical world, Lana's wayfaring mind had brought her to ponder upon the world where they _could_ be. If nothing else, it'd seemed as though by nature, _dreams_ were the only things that existed along the very same axiom. Unhindered by the bounds of the veritable present, and thereby, permissive of _all_ possibilities.

_Dreams_. They’d always been such a curious thing.

It would seem that Lana would be unable to quench the smoldering embers of her thoughts quite yet. She stirred where she’d lain, shifting her eyes through the dim veil of black toward her left, toward the occupied space where she _knew_ she would find Theron. She set her gaze there, allowed it her patience until they’d found their bearings in the dark. It’d been a familiar place, after all. The _dark_.

Just as soon as they’d been able to trace his silhouette, she turned her eyes away once again. Just an assurance. The _certainty_ that he still remained was all she required. As she let them map the expanse of the formless surface above, she’d found that the distraction had been hardly enough quell her mind's unrest. 

Upon the purging, cathartic breath Lana allowed to wash over her entire being, she'd then taken notice of her heart’s rhythm. Always present, but rarely ever consciously regarded. Like the gentle, but compulsory striking of a drumbeat, it’d become apparent only after it’d been heard. And upon its string of monotonous notes, she felt its tribal resonance stir her toward something from within. It'd been as though a brewing clairvoyant vision, once so quiet and dormant, now roused to awakening amidst the dissipating confines of the shifting present. This vision now compelled Lana to _move_.

“Theron.”

His breath paused on the gentlest note of her voice. His eyes, too, had been unable to bring themselves to shut, drawn to vagrancy along with his wayward, wandering thoughts. And now, caught upon the line Lana had cast, they finally ceased to stir.

“…Yeah?” he answered through the dark.

Like perfectly mirrored composites, they’d lain side by side. Their eyes drawn skyward, hindered by the ceiling and the levels upon levels above even that. Their hands had been still at their sides, though neither could completely banish the tickling itch that compelled their very fingertips to stir, so finely tuned to feel the barest, most unsettling elements afloat in the air around them.

“Your master,” Lana began to voice her offhanded curiosity in the faintest breath, “he would speak to you about _anything_ , is that right?"

“Pretty much.”

She then sang a soft, thoughtful hum. 

“What do you think of _dreams_ , Theron?"

He couldn’t tell if she’d voiced her sudden question because she had been unable to sleep, or if she’d simply been unwilling to. 

“What do you mean?” The exact intent behind her asking this had also eluded him. “What sort of dreams?”

Falling silent for a brief moment, she began drawing from the ephemeral glimpses and recollections from the store of her mind. She’d grasped at not only the images, but the sensations as well, having always understood profoundly that dreams were more than things one saw. They were things one _experienced_.

“I had a dream once.”

“Yeah?” he asked with quiet curiosity, drawn by this sudden trace of her thoughts.

"An unexpected one. Quite some time ago. Nothing...particularly wondrous or...spectacular." In her bid to elaborate, the visions quite eluded her, leaving only the vague and imprecise impressions. “I didn’t know what to make of it then.”

Lana let her mind wander along its inner pathways to the familiar channels of the imprinted memory, now somewhat eroded by time. Even then, she'd still been able to trace its remains. Like the lingering vestiges of the long gone Rakatans and their empire, they very much remained, never completely erased. The overlooked, but everlasting ghost of something that was once so extraordinary and vast. Something quite _eternal_. 

"I wondered..." Her voice trailed to a whisper.

Theron had recognized this tone of Lana's perfectly. He recognized when she'd been divided between the present tangible moment and her own private world. He'd kept to his silence, then, to allow her the proper modes in order to delve deeper into herself to find what she'd meant to unearth.

"It is said...how among a rare few, the Force may imbue one's dreams with visions of its very own design. I wondered, for a time, if this had been one such vision..."

Wandering the edge of his curiosity, he pondered why she should bring up such a subject. "Yeah...? What did you dream about?"

Another pause had overtaken Lana, halting the words at her lips. She'd lowered her eyes from the ceiling back to the empty, spacious dark. Her fingers stirred, brushing and entwining within themselves where they'd rested, folded over herself. _This_ vision had been immaculate in its clarity within her memory, though the wrenching feeling in her heart stalled her from voicing the plain answer to the simple question asked.

Only after a passing moment's hesitation did Lana finally gain the resolve to propel herself at last. She willed her gaze to move, and her entire being followed suit, shifting to face her single other companion lain beside her. She watched as he, too, stirred, seemingly at the prompt of her body's sudden displacement on the shared surface. Her reticence would only appear to wash away the moment her gaze met his at the center.

Theron's eyes, free of any prejudice or expectation, had been the spark of grace that resurrected her languished voice. Her answer came with the slightest swell of her next breath.

"I dreamed of _you_."

The simplicity of this revelation came upon him like the dawning sunrise. Gradual, yet spectacular in its light. Though it had been the luminous _warmth_ of its presence—the subtle, gossamer veil trailing at the hem of its beheld glory. The lasting, subconscious afterthought that is long to depart, even at the close of day. 

Theron's lips had parted almost imperceptibly in its wake, stirring on a thread's end before being drawn into a merest shade of a smile. 

"...Oh yeah?" Safely shrouded under the cover of the room's dusk, the touch of mirth that began to color his expression had just been subtle enough to escape Lana's immediate senses.

"So, you think it...might be the Force's way of telling you something?" His question had come forth, laced with the amusement of his intrigue. "Something about...how we were _destined_ to meet...? That old 'fate' stuff...?" 

Although Lana could not fully read the faint undertones beneath his gleaming smile, too lost to the dimmed air enveloping them, the sheer potency of suggestion in his tone imparted volumes. His mild jest drew from her breath another of her delicate songs of laughter.

It was a song Theron listened to well, committing to memory its melody among the other arcane words and sounds within his well-versed vocabulary that personified Lana Beniko.

"After enough reflection... Much, _much_ thought... I was no longer quite certain it had been the Force's doing at all." 

Lana's bearings then grew sedate upon the pervasive, solemn contemplation of her subsequent sobering thought. "Why should such an entity hold any concern for two mere mortals...whose meeting holds no stake in the great design of all the universe...?"

Theron's own depths brought him to ponder over her rhetoric. "You don't think there was anything meaningful about any of this? About us—meeting? All the stuff that's happened since then...?"

She'd been taken by the scope of his questioning, how far beyond he'd gone past her narrow vision. Upon its consideration, she'd found her range of sight expanded to encompass the far broader area surrounding what she'd herself observed. The perceptiveness of Theron's own vision was uncommon for outside eyes to bear witness to, but indeed, Lana had witnessed it enough to understand profoundly his own depth of contemplative insight. One needn't at all be well-versed in the ways of the Force to grasp the parables of the universe.

It'd been Lana's hanging stillness that prompted the shift in Theron's presence. "You know, I... I've never really been one to...hold all this faith or... _veneration_ of the Force or anything." Even as a child, Theron had never held the same measure of piety as his peers had—its divine, guiding touch always so far from tangibility within his senses. "But I respect its presence. Its influence. I know it exists. I don't know that it's really there to serve anything or answer to anyone..."

Theron's breath hung at the ends of this forming thought. It'd been a subject he'd rarely held any conversation about. Only ever pondered over in the company of his own mind. He'd found it difficult to articulate these feelings to an entirely other being.

"...But...things... Things just don't happen without a _purpose_."

The lofty, philosophical dialogues had always been an elusive matter with Theron. Despite the ambiguity that grayed his words, Lana could feel his grasp reaching for the seemingly temporal intuition he'd meant to share. She'd begun to suspect that he was never quite so apathetic toward such sentiments as he'd always made himself appear to be. Why he'd felt compelled to pretend, she could never precisely understand. Especially in the conversations to be shared with her. She reserved within her heart a place to welcome the very essence of himself that he'd been so hesitant to reveal.

"At least, I guess...I'd just rather believe that they wouldn't." Theron sighed as he contemplated his ideas, trying to collect and order them into a string of coherence he could properly verbalize. "That...there's always some kind of reason behind everything that happens. I don't know. Maybe it's just a cop-out to justify the world. To make life more bearable."

Since her first glimpse into the profound providence the Force endowed upon the universe, Lana's faith in it had never faltered. However, it would seem that there'd been something lurking within the furthest reaches of her being that began to grow heavy, tethering its weight to her very heart. It'd felt like the ballast that kept her mortally bound to the confines of the observable, corporeal world. The Force's enlightenment drifted ever farther from her reach upon the successive realization of the discoveries it'd advertently withheld from her, far outnumbering those it _would_ reveal. Only more questions had surfaced as she tread its intended course illuminated to her. And it'd ever been when she began to trust in her own certainty again, when she'd felt most secure commending herself to the Force's almighty grace, that she'd be cast yet another stone of doubt, dashing the presumed clarity of the waters in its scattering ripples. 

In its absence—in its incendiary, vexing silence—this _other_ remnant, an entire entity so far from its perplexities, so palpable, so _genuine_ in its natural and immaculate presence, began to fill its void. For all its absoluteness, for all its permissive verity, Lana still could not determine what this entity _truly_ was. It'd been a feeling. A promise. An intuition. All the things that could ever be interpreted in volumes, yet never so adequately by any single word. Whatever it had been, what she'd known—what she'd _felt_ , had been its encompassing _warmth_. And it'd seemed to coincide, to analogous perfection, with the growing clarity of her eyes upon the expanse within her scope. In her field of sight, the single _one_ her line had been drawn towards had awaited in plain view. To advance felt like another step leading her closer to its warmth. Closer back home. Back to the _hearth_.

"But, you know. _Reason_. Reasons are a crazy thing." Theron's voice gained in the immutable certainty that had been circumventing his grasp until only now. "The simplest reasons can be more empowering than people seem to give credit for. They can come from somewhere else. They can come from inside. Wherever they're found, they're the things that drive us to do the things we do, right?" 

He turned his sights back to Lana. "I just... I wouldn't be so quick to write it off as nothing, you know? Maybe there's a _reason_."

In the wake of the following pause, the looming curiosity simmering on the back-burner of Theron's conscience finally incited him to inquire on the more germane question he'd meant to address. "...What _was_ the dream about, anyway?"

It would seem that his simplest statements were the ones that elicited the most visceral responses from within her. Lana smiled as she considered it. "As with the nature of most dreams, there is little the consciousness can recount, I'm afraid." Her answer held a hint of lament, but the purity of her playful candor hadn't left her smile.

"But, I do remember—" Lana faced him as she slowly reached over. "—I remember...your _hand_." She placed her palm open over his heart with delicate care, the numbing reticence stripped away completely from her touch as it basked in the warmth it'd found. 

"Here. Over my heart, just like this...."

Her chaste touch had been faint and demure at first, though quite enough to catch his breath in his exuberant surprise. He'd felt her hand then ease against him, drawing him back down from the atmosphere just as she'd relaxed herself closer against him in the most natural flowing shift. Without consciously thinking to, Theron's arm instinctively came around her shoulders as he released his withheld breath. He drew his gaze downward toward her, now lain in repose, perfectly at peace while she slowly shut her eyes in the lull of this moment's shared tranquility.

Lana had grown quiet and content to feel him loosen from the binds of his own consuming forbearance. Once he had softened enough beneath her touch, her hand could at last distinguish his pulsing heartbeat. It'd been racing only moments ago, drawing a quaint smile to her lips. Only in a matter of short time, she'd then felt it ease and grow steady with her own. 

At the bliss of her great amusement, there stirred a long withheld sensation from within the far reaches of her own heart. It'd flooded through her body, carried along with her coursing blood, delivering with it the familiar disposition she'd recalled from a certain previous encounter shared between them. Lana had been duly reminded of where their thoughts and conversation had been left open and unsettled—of the unresolved and unremitting _intimacy_ that left its sustaining signature, something she'd found herself no longer able or _willing_ to ignore.

"...Theron?" Her whisper had been the faintest yet in the entirety of that night. Where she'd lain so close to him, she felt him take in another long breath at the mere sound of her voice. "May I ask you something?"

"Yeah. Sure." 

Of course, she need not even ask.

"That night...when we were in my room. At the hotel—do you remember?" 

There'd been a tentative facet to her demure questioning, one that hardly escaped Theron's senses. He swallowed as his entire being suddenly grew arid. A very certain, creeping solicitude briskly permeated through to his very core once the inescapable thought took hold of his anxious heart once again. His voice waned upon the presentiment cast over him.

"...Yeah. I remember."

Lana's hand had not drifted from where it'd lain against him. She'd found herself spellbound by the almost surreal sensation—the plain, unchanging pulse of his heartbeat. Allowing it to briefly sweep her away within its tides, her mind unwittingly floated adrift with the vanishing moment.

Hearing no response, Theron's torrential thoughts grew restless. He peered down at her, so serenely still by contrast. Even as she was, this view of her had done little to ease his heavy, unsettled conscience.

"Lana...?" he whispered to her.

The sound of his voice beckoned her back from her wandering mind's abstraction. She blinked her eyes for clarity once they'd been roused open. Her unfocused gaze then drifted toward her curling fingers where they'd gently entwined into the folds of his shirt. 

"Did you... _mean_ all those things you said...?" she asked in the barest voice as she replayed their exchanged words vividly in her memory.

Not a trace of underlying remorse or discontent to observe beneath her question. Theron's relief came upon him in the guise of a burgeoning, almost bashful little smile. "...I said a _lot_ of things that night. Mind narrowing it down a little?"

Lana nearly flushed as her flawless countenance mirrored his own. " _Courtship_."

Theron felt her shift, withdrawing into herself upon her unraveling thought. As she shrank, she pulled herself closer into his hold as though drawn by the warmth of his very presence. He responded appropriately, ushering her in by the hand rested soundly at her shoulder. He allowed her the moment to dispel the restraint of her passing reticence.

Settling her nerves, she at last willed the question from her breath. "Would you really have gone through all that trouble? Just for a _kiss_...?"

Theron's fingers stirred, unconsciously brushing along her shoulder in his idle musing. "Well...it's not really trouble if you're having _fun_..." His voice dwindled at his glowing humor. "I wouldn't date a girl I couldn't have fun with."

Lana could swear she'd _heard_ the widening smile heralded in his words. She'd observed the infallible sense beneath his enlightened remark and beamed inwardly at its prospect. Her voice diminished even more so as it tread along the margins of her next daring thought. 

"Do you think that...perhaps... Perhaps there might be a day when... _we_ could have a dinner? Just like the one you imagined?"

Listening to her ask such a thing, her voice so quiet and unassuming, Theron had been all but entirely swept away by its tender swell.

"With _white_ wine," she remembered to say in light of the jest he'd made that same night.

Carried off by the tidal moment, their last remaining bit of distance began to close in. Theron drew his other hand across to find its place along her waist. Ushered by his cue, Lana eased even closer, filling the space perfectly molded to her being. The space where she'd felt the utmost belonging in. As she soundly eased her head into the hollow of his neck, he pressed his face closer, letting the locks of her fine hair brush along his bare skin.

"Whatever you want, Lana," he hummed in a voice as small as her own. He'd meant every bit of it. He would indulge her every humble desire that moment, knowing that she never asked for much. He would give her anything she wanted if she'd only _ask_. 

His own question came as tentatively as his smile, hidden where he'd buried his nose into her tresses. "Are you gonna...make me wait until after all of that...?" His hitching breath broke into his words, caught between his humor and his earnest desire to _know_. 

"...Before I can kiss you?"

Her steps had brought her close enough to take Theron's hand, now entwined with hers where they'd stood facing one another in plain, unobstructed view. Their lines no longer on separate parallels, coming upon the crossing where they'd been bound towards convergence. It had been so minimal by such gradual degrees, neither Lana nor Theron had seemed to take notice. In the grasp of his hand, she'd found the solidarity, the inextinguishable strength and will to take the final step.

Lana's answer had been a plain one. Her palm pressed gently against Theron where she'd pushed herself loose from his hands to drift closer, turning her gaze upward in search of his own. Once she'd found it, she bore with her eyes a most poignant, beholding vision. Like the canvas of her very own soul, Lana's tender gaze had shone with the ethereal colors of a most subliminal brilliance. It had been a divine grace of her own being, reserved only for _him_. For only _his_ eyes to see. For only _his_ heart to hold.

Lana gently shook her head. In a single, perfect motion—a perfect _meeting_ , she sank towards him just as he'd drawn her in.

_This_ kiss had carried with their entwining lines the distinctly impalpable sensation—of refuge, of belonging, of deliverance. Of the endless multitudes of the plainly indescribable and the inexplicably clear. It had been an act of simplicity, a quintessential movement within the grand course of the universe—so small yet so profound.

With the passing dream came their awakening senses. The chilled air between their parted lips. His idle hand against her face. Her brow pressed against his own. The locks of hair and the creases of cloth curled and wound between fingers. An _embrace_. 

And unspeakable _warmth_.

At Theron's side within his arms, Lana had returned. Her eyes lulled shut by the delicate stroke of his fingers, wandering where they'd willed across her small frame. As he drew their shared covers higher to ward away the night's cold air, he let his lips linger against the crown of her head, tucked comfortably beneath his own.

"Not a trace of alcohol this time. I promise," he murmured to her with a smile.

The breath of her soft laugh followed. "It would seem so."

Within the trailing minutes, Lana had been first to fall asleep. She'd drifted off far quicker than Theron thought to expect, only to be reminded of her habit of disguising any trace of fatigue that ever wore down on her. He momentarily peered down at her slumbering form. Watching Lana sleep was a liberty he only ever had few chances to take, and it'd been one he determined to reserve for himself many more times to come. She appeared to still very much favor her side in her sleep, an endearing little amusement he'd recalled. It was hardly a thing of bother, making it all the easier for him to draw her ever closer into his hold.

How consummate their symmetry had been as Lana laid opposite of him, like a physical, tangible extension of his very own being. It'd felt akin to embracing his own heart within his hold—long dispossessed by indomitable circumstance, now reclaimed and rekindled. There was much comfort to be had in finding that it'd _still_ remained warm in his hands. And from there to his arms, it radiated, spread and dispersed through the whole of his living being, filling every blood vessel, every cell, every fiber of his mortal essence. Unlike the temporal warmth any indulgence, any single night's pleasure, or even that of the literal which emanated from the fires of all blazing furnaces—natural or manufactured—this warmth, he _knew_ , was a lasting one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! ^_^ Sorry again for the lengthy wait. But I swear to the Force itself, I'm not quitting on this before it's finished, haha. Rest assured! I also...wanted to apologize for any iffy-ness to be found in this chapter...like as far as coherence or redundancy or even stupid typo junk go. It was just... _daunting_ going through the proofreading and revision process for this behemoth of a chapter. I _may_ not have spent as much time as I should've there (I was so eager to get this update out for you guys!) Anyway, I hope it came together okay. It gets hard to judge when you're kind of _too_ in it, you know? xD
> 
> I'm sure some people are thinking this too, but I didn't feel it was quite right to separate it into smaller chapters either. I personally don't like the idea of closing a chapter on an incomplete thought, and this entire part felt more to me like one whole 'episode' of sorts. It wouldn't have felt quite right to have chapter breaks in between the sections...I think. And the way it's been coming along, it looks like the future chapters are likely to follow a similar kind of structure (though probably not quite as lengthy, lol! ...I _think_.)
> 
> Anyway. As usual—I really want to thank the kind reviewers who've left comments for the story! It never ceases to excite and blow me away to hear the kind of feedback people have been leaving...wow! I am SO happy to see that you guys are liking all of this. Feel free, everyone/anyone, to leave comments, ask questions, say 'hi', etc...lol. I have to say, I never thought I'd get acquainted with new friends through fanfiction...but I did! Yay for happy accidents! ^_^ w00t.


	6. Spectres Behind the Painted Veil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exponential increase in progressive chapter word count = fanfic ownage? :D Lol, but I did do the math...considering the time it's been taking mah slow butt between updates... Seems to average out into slightly less ridiculous figures, heh.
> 
> This one's a fairly heavily Lana-centric chunk here. Kinda inspired along by an ongoing curiosity o' mine with the existing snippets of her backstory (or lack thereof, more like). But there are sprinkles of coupley fluff stuff with our leading man, too, of course! And _plenty_ more yet to come... ;)
> 
> But yes—fair warning, same deal. Super-duper-mega-marathon chapter here! Woo-hoo! Grab a meal for the ride! ^_^
> 
> (Also...apologies for any strange wording or typo-esque weirdness that I might've overlooked. I managed to catch a few html screw-ups, but I maaay have missed some? I _swear_ I spent a good couple of days just proofreading and revising this chapter...but it was still a _lot_ to go over, lol. Please feel free to make a mention if anyone notices something obviously wrong somewhere...)

** Spectres Behind the Painted Veil **

 

"Tell me, do you hate the Republic?"

"My Lord?" The young girl peered at the esteemed Sith Lord, baffled by such an aberrant thing to be asked. Her inquisitive regard revealed from beneath her alert and mindful disposition a great uncertainty upon hearing this man's question. She had been unable to determine if this had been a wry jest, or perhaps some strange means of his to evaluate her.

"A simple question, my girl. One that requires only a simple answer," he sounded urbanely, glimpsing the doubt that colored her face. He reiterated his question once again. "Do you hate the Republic?"

The youth lowered her gaze and directed her thoughts inwardly as she pondered on them. While it surely would have been expected for her to answer with immediacy and with the only answer thought to be acceptable to such a question, the Sith Lord turned his gaze astutely as he observed her acute inner-workings tinker and shift as she contemplated her response.

"...No."

Her answer came in a small voice, thickened by the infirmity of her hesitation. Though the Sith Lord easily discerned that what had given her pause came not from her spoken answer, but from the unspoken vindication beneath the plain and simple word.

" _No_?" he questioned her. The man had determined to hear those unspoken words.

Still absorbed by her own submersing thoughts, the man's curious gaze had gone unnoticed by the girl's wayward attentions. She gently shook her head. 

"I don't."

The youth was certain of the severe disappointment her answer must have brought, but she'd simply been incapable of bringing herself to lie. 

"I am not sure...I am able to adequately explain," she attempted to elaborate. "I _understand_ —we are taught that they are the enemy because they are aligned with the Jedi and their order. That we must overcome them. That their enduring existence is a threat to our very own...because _they_ hate _us_."

The lack of clarity in her own complexity of feelings had been vexing. She furrowed her brows and released a breath.

"Please, don't misinterpret my meaning, Dark Lord," she implored, raising her eyes back to the man. "If I am asked to fight them, I _shall_. I would gladly lay down my life for the Empire to protect her from the Republic. Without question." The girl's voice gained in certitude. Her unwavering valor and fealty, absolute.

"But...I don't hate them," she repeated her words, this time with a certain conviction free from all lingering ambivalence. "They must have a _reason_ for their resolve...just as we do. For their hatred. For... _why_ it runs just as deeply, just as we have been taught to harbor against them." The girl lowered her eyes again upon the burgeoning glimmer of her insights. "Even so, I have always... I have always _wondered_. Just...what exactly _are_ those reasons they hold?"

The Sith Lord glimpsed the youth's most telling of gestures—how her lips had pursed upon her every considered thought, how she'd straightened herself more so with every word spoken while casting her gaze lower and lower, how the very tips of her fingers stirred and withdrew within themselves, slighted by the very contradiction dictated from within the depths of her heart. Any Sith Lord who'd listened to these words would have heard nothing but profane heresy.

"...I want to understand them. I want to understand... _why_."

The man watched as the girl drew in a quiet breath. She now appeared quite reluctant to dare raise her gaze another time.

"I asked for a _simple_ answer."

The Sith Lord's remark had shaken her from her reticence. She blinked her eyes, inwardly berating herself as she realized how unnecessarily she'd complicated her words.

"Yes, you did. Apologies, my Lord. I... I didn't mean..."

It would seem that his droll humor had completely gone past the girl, the Sith Lord mused as he smiled to himself. With a wave of the hand, he dismissed her unwarranted concerns, shaking his head with a subdued pass of laughter.

"Every answer to that question I have heard until now has ever only been 'yes,'" he gratuitously shared with the girl. "A simple 'yes'—either truthfully, because there had indeed been hatred in their hearts toward our enemies. Or untruthfully, because there was no hatred, and such an answer had been given because it'd been the one I am presumed to expect."

The Sith Lord's gaze then beheld such esteem as he imparted upon the girl his next words. 

"You are the first acolyte to have ever given me a _different_ answer. And one that is also _honest_."

He then offered the girl a most sincere smile, moved by the uncompromising faith he'd witnessed within the youth in the span of this single, brief encounter. 

"All acolytes are taught to adhere to doctrines. To display their fealty and allegiance by their unquestionable service and devotion. If one does so as expected, he shall never be faulted." These had been the very tenets by which all Sith had been brought forth, unchanged since his own time and all those who had come before him.

His earnest regard heralded such praise as he looked to the young girl once again. 

"I am not interested in apprenticing such acolytes. What I _am_ interested in is one who stands out from the rest. That acolyte is _you_ , Lana Beniko."

 

* * *

 

_No, not a dream this time._

Lana stirred, roused awake by the mild turbulence that rocked the starliner as it drifted out of hyperspace.

_A memory._

With a yawn, she rubbed her tired eyes. Peering about, it'd seemed that the rest of the passengers remained quite unfazed by the passing, rolling tremors. She didn't linger long on the thought, always having been somewhat of a light sleeper, after all. Accessing the personal terminal at her seat, she examined the remainder of the journey's itinerary.

_Little more than an hour until arrival. Thank the Force._

It'd been a smaller Republic sector she was bound for this time. The location wasn't nearly as populated or economically robust as many other places in the galaxy, but it'd been a strategic one situated along the rimward cusp of Republic space, very much as far from Dromund Kaas as Lana imagined she'd ever traveled.

_No. It isn't._

Along her passing musings, Lana remembered that she _had_ journeyed further. It'd been a place far displaced and far from home, buried deeply in the dimmest corners of her memory. She'd left it there for a reason, and she did not welcome its presence looming back into her idle thoughts.

_That's right. Hoth was further._

And such a long journey that had been, she recalled—a visit meant to be one of diplomacy, just like the journey she'd made now. A distant smile crept along her lips, though she neither willed it there, nor had the surfacing memory with it brought any warmth or fondness to her heart.

_Of all times, you come to me_ now _, Master? Over a decade of silence. And now... What more can a ghost presume to teach me?_

Such conversations were only occasional occurrences. Lana did not like to speak with ghosts. She never did understand. Why had it been necessary for the memories to suddenly reawaken from the cold, only ever for brief periods before lying to rest once again? 

But once they'd made their presence known, she could not ignore them. She did not like to keep company with ghosts. She did not like to speak with them. Too many times, she'd beckoned and reached for them, asked them the multitude of questions left lingering in her heart that had been left unanswered in the void cast by their absence. Not _one_ time had they ever spoken back.

_Even ghosts must sleep. I am fine. I am content. Please rest now, and leave me be._

 

* * *

 

"Now, what has gotten you so anxious over, Lana?"

She paused at the sound of her master's voice. She'd kept her distant gaze lowered to the white snow at their feet as she trailed behind him along their path. Only now drawn back to attention, Lana lifted her eyes from the ground as her master addressed her. 

For much of the journey since setting out from the Imperial base, the man had kept himself busy, jovially conversing with the captain of their escort guard while she followed quietly behind. In the company of her master, who'd always taken the lead while she observed and learned, Lana rarely spoke unless addressed. 

Her mindful silence since their arrival on Hoth had appeared to give many the impression that she'd been a somewhat shy and taciturn girl. There'd been a number of times already when soldiers had mistaken her for some humble aide rather than the Sith Master's own apprentice. Given her mild temperament, Lana had been all but overlooked for the duration of their visit, though it served her well enough as she'd made good use of her relative peace, observing and absorbing the happenings all around her.

Abruptly pulled from her inward contemplation, Lana paused. Her lips parted slowly as she gathered her thoughts back to the present moment. 

"...Anxious?" she uttered half-mindedly.

Before she articulated anything further, a sharp, frosty breeze brushed through the canyon's path, cold enough to sting one's bare nose by its mere touch. She squeezed her eyes shut, tucking her face into herself as the gust passed over them. Shaking away the biting cold, she'd found herself, once again, pulling her loosened hair from her face. The sudden rushing gales had been a great nuisance to her throughout their journey. The winds, the cold, the frost—all of it had been things she'd disliked sorely in excess as they were, and she'd absolutely _hated_ the elements adrift in tandem on this dismally winter-locked world.

Releasing an exasperated sigh, she tightened her hair, already held in a neatly fixed ponytail high at the back of her head, and once more tucked the long locks away into the shawl draped around her neck. She knew it would only remain this way until the next breath of wind, but there was little she could do otherwise.

"Apologies, Master," she breathed as she readjusted the strap of her pack slung over her shoulder. Upon noting the sudden, unwarranted concern brewing between them, she let out a mildly self-deprecating laugh.

As he watched the mood shift in his apprentice's countenance, the Sith Lord smiled. "I have seen Sith tremble uncontrollably from the excitement of an expected battle," he voiced with amusement. "We aren't even _armed_ , Lana, dear."

Sharing in her master's laughter, she exhaled every last bit of her nerves. "Am I trembling? It must be the cold, then. I hate the cold."

Collecting herself, she then remarked with renewed candor. "I am... _surprised_ , I must say. That you'd been able to persuade the Jedi to agree to this pact—to come free of arms. They always mistrust us."

"Exactly why we must present a sign of good faith ourselves. This is _our_ example," the man reminded her with solemn resolve. "We've come only to enforce the Treaty. An _armistice_ is what our intended mission is. Nothing short and nothing beyond."

Lana raised her head in accordance as she straightened her posture, displaying her proud constancy to their assigned charge.

"I would imagine the Jedi had been receptive toward such sentiments." He shrugged upon a humored thought as he turned to continue along their path. "They are often, if not habitually, somewhat _predictable_."

With a brief nod, Lana smiled to herself at this amusement, falling back into step behind him.

"Then we must not leave until we see this mission through," she declared with resolve in the warmth of her gentle zeal.

Her master slowed his gait this time, holding his hand out to prompt his apprentice to catch up beside him. 

"No. Sith do not abandon their missions," he spoke in resolute concurrence, tapping his hand along the back of the girl's shoulder to usher her along.

As she continued the rest of the way walking beside her master, the air between them fell silent. The only things to be heard over the following minutes had been the rush of the whistling wind blowing across the snowfield expanse beyond their path, and the crunching ice and frost beneath their feet.

"What I've seen through my years, Lana, is that too many Sith forget that there is always more than one way to realize any single objective."

Her master's quiet voice did not slow her steps, but she began to listen immediately at his cue. Turning her gaze to her left, Lana peered at the old man, heeding his every word with the astute diligence of any faithful pupil. It was in this moment, as she watched while his sights gazed forward into the world of his own private thoughts, that she had noticed for the first time how _aged_ her master had truly been. She could see the years etched into the layers and the contours of his countenance well beneath the skin and the flesh. Her master was an _old_ man. How she imagined what images his old eyes had seen. What sounds, what _movements_ his old ears had listened to. She'd known there had been much his being had _experienced_ , and she'd dutifully kept her own open to receive what he'd meant to impart. This man had no family, no legacy—nothing to show what his existence had summed to, yet he'd held within him an entire lifetime of knowledge and wisdom to bear. 

She'd learned from the many conversations with this old man that he'd never kept a successful apprentice under his tutelage. All who had trained under him had perished either by circumstance or, far too often, by their own hubris. Each a failure in one way or another. Each a disappointment. _All_ , now ghosts in his long-lived memories. Even in his advanced age, the old man learned from these mistakes, from a lifetime of collective ghosts. Once the universe had led him to cross paths with this young girl, he'd _known_ —this had been what his lifetime had brought him to. He would not err by Lana Beniko. He would make _certain_ that she would succeed. For all the things his eyes had witnessed over a single lifetime, this had been one momentous instance his being had found and held to with such absolute faith. This girl was a _rare_ kind. One he knew held all the potential to make a _difference_.

Shifting his gaze, the old Sith's eyes met Lana's, so curiously and tentatively fixed upon his own. The sole assurance that this girl questioned _anything_ her luminous mind came across heartened him deeply. He was content to know that she would never grow stagnant, a lamentable state to which so much of their world had languished.

"Allow your passions to _guide_ you, yes. But always remain prudent," he spoke to her in a lowered voice. 

Lana's eyes followed her master's hand to where he reached, tapping his forefinger onto the center of her chest. "The heart is there to be listened to, but you must not let it take the helm."

This had been a lesson the old man had echoed numerous times before, though never with such emphasis as now. She'd felt a certainty in her own understanding of what he'd meant to say, though she pondered why he'd felt the need to repeat it again and again. Lana wondered if there'd still been something she had not yet realized even within the iterations.

"It all becomes far too easy to _forget_ once you let it govern your choices and your actions." His gaze became gravely sedate as he pressed his caution. "And you must _never_. Never forget. Never lose sight of what _matters_."

"The mission," Lana uttered with diligence.

By his unfaltering gaze, the man invited his pupil to expand her sights even more so. He gently shook his head. 

"Beyond even that, my girl."

The canyon pass had come to a gradual incline at its end now, leading out into the frozen tundra surrounding the icy highland terrain. Proceeding toward the summit, her master spotted their Republic counterparts arriving in the far distance. At nearly an equal distance between their party and the approaching Jedi, the vacant compound where they'd arranged to convene at had now also become visible at the base of the adjacent plateau. The Sith Lord then turned to the rest of their small party of armed escorts.

"All right, gentlemen. As per the conditions of the pact, I'm afraid that this is to be the end of your journey," he announced to the troopers in his casual humor. "Not a single weapon within 300 meters of the rendezvous point. As agreed upon with the Republic representatives."

It'd been the guard captain who quickly spoke up next, having never eased his concerns over such an arrangement since its conception. 

"My Lord, if you'll allow me to voice once again... I know you mean to prove your honorable intent, but I think it _highly_ unwise for you to proceed without our escort—"

Without losing a bit of his light spirit, Lana's master halted the man's objections.

"And so you've voiced your concerns. Acknowledged—and _appreciated_ —Captain." He politely offered him a simple bow of the head. "And now, I shall proceed as intended. In the company of _only_ my apprentice."

The Sith Lord directed a nod toward the girl at his inclusive mention of her.

"Come, Lana." Wearing a droll smile, he turned from the escort, prompting his apprentice to hurry along with a swift gesture of the hand. "Our _friends_ await."

Reaching the compound entailed yet another trek across the snow. Foregoing the longer but safer path that trailed along the rocky highlands, they'd taken a direct route, cutting clear across the snowfield from the canyon pass. Had the conditions been any bit more volatile, this would not have even been an option to consider, as any gale powerful enough could have easily enveloped the plains in complete, blinding white within minutes.

The shorter path had put them nearly a quarter of an hour's time ahead of their guests. While her master tended to the facility's generators to provide lighting and warmth, Lana took the moment to wander about the compound to satisfy her curiosities. 

It'd been no spectacular site in any sense, a simple and rather small refuge that appeared to serve as a temporary encampment for its previous residents. Judging by its stark bareness and the lack of any equipment or supplies, she surmised that this place must not have been utilized for decades, even during the duration of the battles fought all over the grounds of this forsaken planet.

What had been most uncanny to her was the unnatural coldness within the walls of this compound. Its thick durasteel walls certainly shielded them from the elements of this world, but Lana could not help but feel as though these very same walls did nothing but siphon away every morsel of warmth introduced by their mere presence. There was no draft, no movement or stirring to be remotely found in this thin air. The foreboding sensation felt almost _supernatural_. Walking the vacant halls of this barren place had almost felt like a sacrilegious intrusion upon some hallowed grounds. It'd felt like walking among _ghosts_.

When Lana wandered the grounds of Tulak Hord's tomb as an acolyte in the previous year, the dark presence within its walls had been an expected entity to face, she recalled. It'd been, in some ways, easier to know that there lied _something_ to overcome. Some task to complete. But the imagined apparitions in this place had been entirely something else. It'd felt more like a strange intuition that she simply couldn't place, rather than a presence. Lana hadn't known what to truly call it. Its lack of clarity had been rather unsettling.

_Almighty Force... Relentless as always with your mysteries._

"You...are _not_ the Sith I had spoken to over holo."

Startled by the unfamiliar voice, Lana whirled around to see an older human woman lingering by the door at the far side of this chamber, opposite of where she'd come from. She could discern immediately from the woman's robed garb, her austere gaze, and rigid poise that she must have been none other than the Republic's Jedi representative. She then observed the woman's own guarded exterior shift ever so slightly in her moment of realization—that the individual she'd just intruded upon had been but a mere _girl_.

"I presume your _master_ must be present somewhere in these halls, child?" The woman’s remark bore a somewhat patronizing brand of humor.

"I'm not a child." Despite her dignified, soft-spoken courtesies, Lana's voice still carried a defiant edge in response to this woman's dismissive regard.

"He is the one I came to speak with. Show me to him." The Jedi woman seemingly paid no credence to her swift remark. She did not speak unkindly, but her wintry temperament seemed second only to this world's own. Already, it’d become clear that she was one of those who only ever held a thin layer of patience.

Lana’s composure sank as she lowered her eyes at the woman’s rebuff. “You’ll find him just…further down this hall,” she answered in mild despondence as she pointed back in the direction from which she came. 

"Master, have you found those—?"

A youth peered through the doorway where the Jedi woman had made her entrance. He appeared to be a Mirialan of fair complexion and thin physique, adorned in robes closely matching that of the older woman's. Lana determined that this lad could not have been more than just a few years older than herself.

Once his eyes spotted the unfamiliar presence in his master's company, the youth prudently halted his words. He straightened himself as he cleared his throat just before stepping into the hall to join them.

The woman's gaze patiently followed him as he paced over, coming to a stop at her side. She turned her attention back to Lana with a curt nod of acknowledgement and a minor, graceful gesture of the hand to present the lad. 

"My Padawan." 

Upon her plain introduction, the woman then proceeded along on her way, passing across the Sith girl with little further interest.

Lana’s eyes drifted along the pathway the woman had taken as she glided by, her long robes trailing at her feet while their ends dragged over the frigid grounds. She watched as she receded away from view down the hall, her even steps like the intrepid march of a noble procession. 

For that moment, the Sith girl found herself in muted admiration of the stoic grace this woman carried in her strides. There'd been something about her serene ease beneath her chilled and subdued composure. It certainly was not the Jedi that Lana had found veneration for, but rather the uncompromising sentinel's heart that the woman bore at her core. She’d read within her subtleties the very same depth and distance she’d gleaned from her own master. The young Sith girl had _known_ , as if by instinct, that this had been the kind of woman that she aspired to be.

Once again, Lana turned forward where her roving glance coincided with the younger Jedi’s—saw as his own eyes stared back at her in consummate scrutiny. She hadn’t expected to encounter a youth such as he among the Jedi representatives and thus, pondered upon what merits had brought his presence to this meeting. Although, she quickly mused, that she herself had scarce few to name. She’d come because her master had willed it. It'd been the _privilege_ of being the Sith Lord's apprentice.

_No, I have also come to_ learn.

_Privilege_ was not a triviality her master cared to indulge, and neither had she felt any desire to concern herself with its tiresome intrigues. She wondered if that had also been the reason why this youth had come. Had it been _privilege_ that drew him to this place, or had it been his own private pursuits that led him here?

Lana raised her gaze, channeling the same refined grace she’d seen of the lad’s own master as she offered a most demure smile—her small gesture of welcome for their guests. She meant to embody the best of the Empire’s will before them, to carry forth in pious respect and humility for the sake of the Treaty and the vision of a prolonged peace. For all her earnest intentions, the Jedi youth returned only a passing look of tepid indifference. With only perfunctory acknowledgement to spare for the Sith girl, the lad quickly looked away before brushing right past her to follow after his master.

In the wafting draft left in the younger Jedi's trail, Lana's stiffened smile waned disparagingly as she lowered her disenchanted gaze. Unlike the master, the Padawan's blatant dismissal had been entirely deliberate. She'd read a studious manner of aloofness in the woman's eyes when she looked at them, but it hadn't held the penetrating depth of _disdain_ suffused throughout that of the youth's.

Collecting herself with a clearing breath, she straightened her posture. Better scorn than violence, her inner voice reminded. Lana turned and followed her steps back where she'd come from, where her master awaited.

"Ah, there you are."

Lana smiled politely upon seeing the man's eyes catching hers as she entered the chamber. The Jedi, too, had seemingly been lingering in wait as well.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wander off," she quietly apologized as she shuffled over to stand behind him.

"No harm, dear. I wouldn't have thought a forsaken place like this would draw even the slightest bit of _your_ intrigue," the man laughed as he welcomed her back.

"This _was_ the place of your choosing, was it not?" the Jedi woman mused. A slight glimmer of humor could be glimpsed beneath her wooden tone this time. 

Her quick eyes flashed toward the Sith girl momentarily as if she'd meant to acknowledge some unspoken secret between them before they'd flickered away again.

"It seemed a fair choice for both parties. By no means a _preferred_ one," her master answered in his own wry wit.

The woman gave a slow nod in seeming appreciation of her counterpart's light disposition and earnest consideration.

"So." She recalled to herself a manner of stern civility. "We are here. What are we to discuss in this place, Sith Lord?" 

Lana watched the Jedi from where she stood in her master's shadow. Behind her grace lied such bold conviction the girl could read as clearly as the written word. Such _purpose_. Like a reflected composite image, the Padawan's place stood behind his master, much like she at the stern of her own. The girl's discerning eyes curiously drifted toward this lad's. 

For the drawn moment she'd watched him, his regard had been all but lost in its calculated apathy as they looked to the man who stood at the lead opposite of him. What a puzzle he'd been. What questions and curiosities passed through her as she attempted to read this youth. This _boy_ , hardly older than herself. She could ascertain what the reasons had been that led the Jedi Master here. _His_ gaze—his countenance yielded nothing of his heart's intent.

The Sith girl would only realize that her eyes lingered a moment too long when the lad's own flickered over to catch hers. Her silent breath hitched impulsively as she quickly lowered them, only too late as they'd already been caught in his sights, but promptly enough to avoid his displeasured glower that followed. The silence outside of the conversing masters only seemed to grow heavier, overtaken only by the throbbing pulse of her heartbeat drumming behind her ears.

"—Lana, dear? Are you listening?"

Her master's voice nearly jolted her back to attention as her eyes shot up from the ground in his direction.

The old man paused with a brimming grin upon glimpsing her blinking, addled countenance.

"You seem awfully distracted today. Are you _certain_ nothing has occupied your mind of late?" he inquired in a gentle tease.

Her breath came forth in a mixture of laughter and a sigh. She shook her head in a sheepish attempt at dismissal. 

"No, I..."

The Sith Lord's ingratiating chuckle left her thought adrift. "The document, then. If you would, please, dear."

Lana paused at his request as her mind blanked momentarily. "Yes...the _document_ ," she mumbled aloud to herself while her hand hovered toward the space where the shoulder bag no longer hanging at her side had been. 

Blanched by her lapse of memory, her lips parted while she searched the reaches of her mind for the item in question. Her eyes slowly trailed where her vague memory seemed to lead—backwards and over her shoulder toward the far side of the chamber where an old control console lied against the wall. Her eyes narrowed as they scanned that end of the room, finally spotting her unattended bag she had forgotten she'd set down at the foot of the console, prior to her impromptu exploration of the compound's halls. She inwardly berated herself in mild frustration as she hastened over to retrieve it. 

"Sorry...sorry..." she breathed in a resigned sigh.

Her master turned his eyes upward with a droll smile and a shake of the head, folding his hands in front of himself as he stood patiently at rest. 

"Girl's normally not this absent-minded," he remarked in a hushed jest toward the guests, managing to win even the barest little smile from the stern Jedi Master.

By contrast, however, the Padawan's unmoved and humorless look did not escape the old man's notice. At the impulse of his own spirited nature, he'd meant to stir up a remark in a bid to loosen the prudish lad, but his apprentice's delayed task first drew his attentions back toward her.

"How are you faring there, Lana?" he called to her.

"No—I've found it, Master..." she murmured in response as she continued to rummage through her bag, "... _almost_..."

The man shifted as he peered over his shoulder, seeing if the girl required any assistance. "Lana—?"

"—Found it!"

From her bag, she pulled the flat case that held the document drive she'd been searching for and turned her eager eyes back toward her master. The instant that followed brought her heart to a screeching halt once they'd glimpsed in horror the scene unfolding before them. As though time itself had drawn out the seconds in a slowed, bitter agony, Lana's mind simply could not will her body quickly enough to respond to what it'd been able to grasp within the flash of the moment.

She watched as her master's smile gradually sank upon witnessing her whitened countenance, the telling warning that'd come just a hair too late. She watched as the old man's expression furrowed first in confusion just as he'd spun around to gaze upon where his apprentice's eyes looked. She then lastly witnessed as his confusion contorted into shock the moment his heart had been pierced by the glowing beam of the younger Jedi's lightsaber. Just as the bag and case slipped from her slackened hands, her eyes had become imprinted by the sight of her master collapsing to the cold, hard ground as he slipped from his murderer's grasp.

Lana's eyes had not seen the Jedi Master sprawled on the ground, pushed aside by the impetuous youth once he'd revealed his concealed weapon. Her ears had been deaf towards the indignant orders the woman had cried to him, deliberately and defiantly spurned. Her senses had very nearly missed the blackened malice from deep within the Padawan's heart if they hadn't willed her to look away from her fallen master to heed the impending danger bounding towards her.

Steering her reddened gaze toward her rushing enemy, the roaring swell of grief and fury stirred her at last. Her movements had been dulled by the surge of her emotions, but she glimpsed the window for retaliation once she'd seen the Jedi's advance suddenly halt. It'd become apparent by the Padawan's struggle to break free from the invisible impediment that he'd now been constricted, held back by the might of the Force. At the corner of her sights, Lana spotted the Jedi Master pushing herself to her feet, palm outstretched while she concentrated her focus against her uncontrollable subordinate.

Wasting no seconds to dawdle before the enemy, the Sith girl extended her own hand to unleash a punishing wave of Force lightning against her assailant. The moment he'd been struck, the youth began to convulse under the strain of her assault, throwing his head back as he cried aloud in pain. 

Lana never took pleasure in harming others, but her senses had now been overcome by blinding fury at the Jedi's treachery, and she had not yet been satisfied from seeing him disarmed when his saber fell from his loosened grasp. The passing seconds had only seemed to fuel her rage as the flooding current intensified at her fingertips. She'd been stopped short of killing the youth only once the crashing blow of the Jedi Master's Force push knocked her from her feet. Sent sailing backwards through the air, she'd collided roughly against the cold ground a distance away. Lana's head rang as she strained to recover from the haze of the impact, but she'd been unable to push herself from her back, wracked in sputtering coughs as her body grasped for the air knocked from its lungs.

By the time her eyes began to regain focus, the calamity had already broken out within the chamber. She hadn't known how or even quite _when_ at the time, but she'd seen the entirety of their escort guard pour in. Her master had given the explicit order for them to remain stationed afar, but she'd been grateful to learn in the aftermath that they'd completely defied his command under their prudent captain's orders.

She'd regained enough of her wits to recall the sight of the guard surrounding the Jedi and the flurry of blaster fire they'd unleashed against the belligerent youth. She recalled briefly witnessing as his unarmed master swiftly called her fallen subordinate's lightsaber to her hand, deftly moving to defend herself from their assault. 

Just as Lana had been urged to her feet by one of the soldiers, her attentions returned once again to her fallen master once she'd glimpsed his still body within her roving sights. Tearing away from the soldier's grasp, she hastened toward him, dropping to her knees at his side. Lana could not remember much else her eyes had seen after that moment, by then clouded by the tears she'd wept in her distraught grief.

The soldier watched how the wailing girl had thrown herself over the fallen Sith Lord. How she'd shaken and beckoned him again and again, only to receive no response. The soldier knew she would _never_ receive one, no matter how she cried and wept. This had been an unremarkable, unremitting sight he'd witnessed enough times on this world. Even in his seasoned familiarity as audience to this reiterating, tiresome play, the soldier could not pretend to have grown numb to the wretched despair of the sight he witnessed before him.

 

* * *

 

Lana had always been inclined to take a seat beside a window during a vessel's descent through the atmosphere upon landing. As the starliner sank towards this world's surface, she let her eyes rove along the far horizon where the lone sun had barely skimmed its edge in these dawning hours. She turned her sights downward through the window's view to see the thick cover of clouds suspended below, reminded of the similar sight to behold in the skies above Dromund Kaas.

How beautiful it'd always been—to sail through its blanket of unsuspecting grey and glimpse upon the brilliance of the color beyond it, seemingly revealed and illuminated by the light of the universe itself. The skies were rarely clear on her homeworld, and such colors were a marvel to witness when chance ever permitted it. Lana never felt any great ardor for the prospect of leaving the bounds of her world, but this had been one pleasant comfort she could always look forward to when she journeyed away from home.

_Nearly an hour ahead of schedule, are we? Better to have been late._

Idle time was not something Lana much desired now at all. Idle time, without fail, always led to idle thoughts, and she'd been quite finished with letting them become occupied by ghosts and the memories of them.

With a weary sigh, Lana's eyes searched about for something, _anything_ to potentially occupy her spare time with. At the moment, she had no means of departing from the spaceport until she'd fallen back into schedule. Seeing nothing of immediate interest, she then opted to begin moving about. She'd find _something_ to busy herself with in due time, her restless mind resolved.

While she strolled about the bustling station, she mused over the passing irony on her hands. Spare time had become a _luxury_ , and she'd taken the moments for herself whenever they'd come about. Yet now, here she'd been—nearly desperate for any mindless distraction to whittle away the time with, until the moment came to occupy herself with the next pertinent thing that demanded her attention.

_What a_ divine _comedy. Although, I suppose it's all always in the timing, isn't it? At least...you'd always said so, Master. See? I remember it all. I remember_ everything _you've said to me. I was never so absent-minded as you seemed to think, you silly old ghost._

 

* * *

 

"What is there to consider? They've shown their hand—those conniving Republic cowards!" one general's voice raged. 

"We _must_ be patient. It is still too early," the voice of another calmer one urged.

"Patience is no luxury we have," yet another advised.

"What _do_ we have? A dead Sith Lord. They may as well have _invited_ us to strike!"

"We _still_ have a remaining Sith—" the cautious one reminded.

"—That girl?! The _apprentice_?"

"Who is now our _commander_." The lone voice of reason firmly rebuked. "Her master's responsibilities now fall to her. Do _not_ forget your place under the rule of the Sith."

The belligerent one derided him once again with a dismissive scoff. "You're _mad_ if you think I'll ever advance into any battle under that girl's lead! A mere _child_! Laughable!"

"Be tactful," another warned him. "There have been younger Sith than her. You'd best remember _why_ they are our lords."

"Now, do realize—there has been no retaliation against us yet either."

"I think it wiser to wait, then."

"...As do I."

Among the collective of generals, more drones and hums of approval began to fill the chamber.

"Cowards— _all_ of you!!"

Exhausted by the louder one's incessant protesting, another voice rose to vehemently raise his challenge. "The rest of the galaxy has _long_ stopped its fighting, you old fool! The Sith and his apprentice had been sent as _peacekeepers_. Hoth, too, must cease its violence at some point."

A lingering pause fell upon the room as they all dwelled on the verse that'd just been spoken.

"...Yes. Yes, we must defer our actions until orders are given."

"So then we must _wait_ on that girl-child? Preposterous..."

"Hmph. Very well. What of her, then? If we are to await for her orders, where is she?" the impatient female among them asked.

"Captain—?" the calm one addressed another.

"She has not been heard from since our return, Sir," the humble officer answered.

"Then find that damned girl already. I won't be kept waiting," the boisterous one grumbled.

" _Three_ days," the female proposed. "If there is no order given in three days from the coming morning, we shall take action with or without the Sith's mandate."

"But, _surely_ —"

"—That is _more_ than generous."

"Three days—agreed."

The others sounded in consensus.

A pause followed before the calmer one relented. "Three days, then. Captain, please inform Mistress Beniko of what has been discussed."

"At once, Sir."

Just beyond the doors of the generals' conference chamber, the Sith girl in question stood a lingering wretch with her back pressed against the entrance, silently wallowing in her aimless lament. There'd been a request for her presence before the generals, but the grieving girl had taken her time to answer to it. Upon her arrival some moments ago, Lana could not bring herself to open the doors to join their conference once her ears had overheard the multitude of disapproving and exhaustive criticisms thrown and spewed about by the men within. _She_ had been the overwhelmingly popular subject of their many unkind remarks. 

Haggard and lackadaisical ever since her return to the Imperial base, she'd spent more of her time in avoidance of company than not. In the quietest, most solitary moments, she'd even found herself falling catatonic as her mind replayed the disastrous events again and again. The girl simply could not understand, could not _fathom_ how or why it had come to this. How quickly and horrifically things had shattered and fallen apart at the very seams she'd been so meticulous with mending.

_How...?_

Just as she'd felt the tears beginning to resurface again, her keen ears quickly alerted her to a set of footsteps leading toward the doors from within the chamber. She hastily brushed the moisture from her eyes before pulling her shawl over her head, directing her strides in a falsely calmed gait down another direction through the adjoining corridor. She listened as the doors swept open in the distance behind her, followed by the subsequent set of footfalls that brushed through them heading the opposite way. 

The girl continued on without a destination to conceive of in the din of her mind, only going wherever her own steps would take her. There'd been no impediment to halt her, no sign or obstacle to steer her down any precise way. She may as well have been yet another silent phantom wandering the avenues of this world's winterscape, morphing and shifting into the very elements themselves. Like the unassuming draft wafting through the cracks and crevices, unwelcome, but perfectly innocuous. Or the delicate wanderer like every last of the billion flakes and droplets of snow and ice carried across on the winds of this world, only ever threatening in amassing numbers. She had only been but _one_. Negligible. Imperceptible.

It would seem as though the winter now beckoned her itself, drawing the Sith girl by the strings closer into its folds. Lana's steps took her there. Took her through the winding construct until she'd reached its very outskirts, until only a mere wall of durasteel had remained to separate her from its cradle beyond. She could already feel its phantom touch grazing her flesh at its fingertips in this space, giving form and life to the very breaths that flowed from her lips. When it stirred her enough to shiver within its frozen embrace, her hands moved at their own will in response, tightening the shawl around her head and neck to feebly steal back the warmth it'd taken from her. She now stood alone in the darkness before the great door, with only the company of the winter awaiting her beyond it.

Lana did not know what to do. Never had she been without her master's guidance since the day she'd come under his tutelage. He'd praised her and pushed her time and time again—urged her to think, to question, to act as her heart and mind judged best. To remember what had been pertinent. What had been _utmost_. To remember what had been _beyond_ just the mission. And how she'd learned to trust his words. Only now, did the girl at last realize how little she'd trusted _herself_. 

Reaching her shaking hand forward, she pressed it against the heavy, mechanical lever by the door. Even through her thick gloves, the bar felt numbingly cold in her grasp. Her shaking grip halted where it'd lain as she hesitated. There'd been nothing beyond these doors, she was certain. What had she hoped to find? At any other given time, such reasoning alone would have steered her from this foolish course. But left alone in the deafening solitude of her own self-imposed reclusion, Lana had begun to hear the all sounds of this world her ears had never previously heard. 

_Voices_. 

Perhaps it hadn't been the winter that beckoned her at all. She wanted desperately to hear their answers. But she'd been too far, too deep within the din of the moving, mortal world to comprehend what they'd whispered of. There'd been too much noise. Too much clutter. None of which existed in the remote expanse beyond these doors. No one of sound mind would dare tread into that world that awaited before her, but Lana _knew_ there were no answers to be found in the one she'd left behind at her back.

The heavy doors creaked to life once she maneuvered the frozen lever, springing open to the storm of snow and gale that battered her small being standing in its wake. Her blood rushed at her heart's quickened pace the moment the bitter, arctic currents encircled her. The girl briefly recoiled from it, but she did not turn away. Even against the deafening whistle of the wind, Lana could already hear the symphony stirring again, willing her feet to move forward. She listened and crossed the threshold into the white world beneath the dark blanket of the cosmos above.

Even in the safest moments of her retrospective clarity, Lana never did know just how long or how far her journey had taken her. All she recalled were the whispers she'd followed. The further her feet had taken her through the snow, the more apparent it had become—how indecipherable the echoes were. Layers upon layers in the most elaborate complexity of chords and scales. The sounds had come from every direction—from above, from around, from _within_. Her heart waned at the marvel of the forces at work here. 

Or, perhaps...she'd simply truly gone mad, treading without protection into the world that would siphon away her very life and sanity without remorse. It would gladly take it, for it had been she herself who offered it, _delivered_ it with her own two hands to its forbidding gates.

Once her feet grew weary against the dense banks of snow, Lana slowed to a stop. It'd been taxing, walking through its depths. She'd never before walked the surface of a world like this.

Emptiness—she'd long become familiarized with it. 

Desolation—she recognized the feeling. The sensation. It had been nothing new.

Cold and frost—she'd experienced winters before. She'd known how it felt to be _cold_. Some nights, she could still feel the barren grounds of Tulak Hord's tomb against her skin.

Yet, there'd been something else entirely about this world Lana could not place. _Another_ element that permeated the space of its planes. _Something_ about its happenings and movements that called to her heart, her very _being_ in ways her senses had never fathomed. This was a kind of solitude she'd never known before. Only her and the world she occupied.

Its voices.

Its _ghosts_.

Lana's breaths continued to heave in clouds from her ice-burned lungs, shrunken from the unrelenting night's frozen air. Exhausted, the girl lowered to her knees. Her gaze sank to the white ground at her feet. Her hands loosened from the shawl she'd clung to, dropping to her sides in lifeless defeat. The wind did not pause for her. It continued to whistle and blow, nearly kissing her as it gently pulled the cloth away from her face to pool at her shoulders. It'd caught the tendrils of her long golden locks, now loosened in streams by the flowing currents. The cold was nearly insufferable.

_'You've come into our arms. Now bare yourself to us.'_

She imagined this had been what this world was saying to her.

_'Don't be afraid.'_

Lana slowly drew her eyes skyward, as though the caress of the winds itself impelled her to. The more she listened, the more familiar the voices seemed to become. She'd have been in tears by now, if it were not for the bitterly dry air all around her. She'd been thankful for it, fearing that if she began to weep now, her eyes would surely have frozen shut.

_'Stand. Come closer. Listen.'_

"There is too much..." her brittle voice uttered aloud. "Too much noise... Too many hindrances..."

She dug her hands into the snow and slowly pushed herself back up from her knees. She'd risen to her feet, just as they'd beckoned.

Nothing.

"What must I do...?" she asked them, carrying forward another agonizing step. She'd slowly trudged herself further several paces more. Just as they'd urged.

Silence.

"I am listening. Do you hear me?" her small, creaking voice pleaded. "I am _listening_..."

The next bursting gust pushed her off her feet. Lana stumbled forward in her step, barely catching herself as she fell to her knees once again.

"Do you hear me...?" Her dwindling voice waned even more. "Do you see me? I'm still here."

In the lingering moment, her fingers had once again wound themselves within the folds of her shawl still hanging at her shoulders. She took the seconds to collect herself, to quell her anguished mind. As her fingers tightened around the cloth between them, she gently pulled it down, letting it slip from her neck as she cast it aside.

_I'm still here._

One by one, she pulled the leather gloves from her slender little hands. Now bare, her fingers trailed over the heavy belt at her waist. She released its buckle, letting it drop to the snow beneath. They then drifted to find each clasp and closure along the front of her jacket, undoing them as well. She shrugged the garment off and let it fall at her feet.

_I'm still here._

She then knelt to remove her shoes. Once she stepped out from them, her feet felt the thousand knives of the frigid ice beneath them. She'd given a moment to allow the sensation to dull them further before she could proceed. 

Next, then, came the thermal bodysuit beneath. When she discarded this layer, she'd felt the same, paralyzing cold perforate through every inch of her bare flesh. Bit by bit, her body challenged the winter as it drew her to come forth even deeper into this world's cradle. The girl then slipped off her remaining underclothes one by one, baring herself pristinely before all the universe. Just as they'd willed.

_I am_ **here**. 

Lana summoned as much of her withering strength as she could to stand before them. Opened her arms wide as she turned her eyes to the cosmos. 

_Now..._

Her lips parted as a trembling breath escaped them. Her entire _being_ shook to the very core before the might of the elements. The cold of their world had truly been unforgiving.

"Now..." It'd been her own frail voice that filled the muted air then. " _Now_...do you see me?" 

Lana waited. Listened. Still, there came nothing but their silence.

Having been adrift so far, she'd now become utterly lost. She hadn't known what to do. She hadn't known where to turn. There was no hand in sight that she could grasp to lead her back. To lead her _home_. And here, she'd found herself astray at the heart of the wretched void itself, conversing with phantoms who would speak but never _respond_.

Lana's body convulsed at her oncoming sobs. She drew her arms back around herself, tucking her face away as she wept. She lowered herself to the snow. The sheets of frost sank beneath her weight as she eased into its folds, curling within herself as a sleeping infant would in the plush of its own cradle.

She'd given up now. They would not respond when she beckoned them. They would have no answers to reveal for any question she bore within her wayward heart. Squeezing her eyes shut, she let the swift wind blanket her beneath its covers. She let its whistling lullaby ease her consciousness away. That had been the only comfort left she could find in this silent, empty world.

Upon her despairing hopes, she'd now embraced the verity of her solitude. Lana was _alone_. With nothing but the company of her thoughts to comfort her as she descended further into the void. In her heart's yearning, they'd traversed the very atlas of her conscience, returning to the ghost whose face she _could_ discern. Once she let herself drift deeper into the quiet void, his voice, too, became audible once again in her memory.

_'Do you hate the Republic?'_

This had been the very first question her master had posed to her. And she remembered the answer she'd given vividly.

_'...No. I don't.'_

_Oh, what a sincerely **stupid** girl you've been. I hate them. I hate them all._

_'I want to understand them.'_

_Let them burn._

For their treachery, for their scheming, for their deceitful machinations. How they boasted of their own selfless valor, their own honor, so vastly superior and above all else in the entirety of the galaxy. They'd been nothing but _dogs_ , no less craven and duplicitous than the very enemies they spurned. The arrogance of their hypocrisy incensed her the more her heart dwelled on their deception. It'd been utterly maddening to bear.

_Let them **all** burn. _

The fires of her bitter indignation began to rise and flare within, yet she'd felt no trace of warmth to be had in them. She was still freezing from the cold while her heart scorched. Lana willed these thoughts to fan and kindle them, as though the righteous, all-consuming flames themselves would set her enemies ablaze by the might of her sheer will. If only she commanded the Force so. How they would all _burn_.

_And yet..._

And yet, the more her searing heart had dwelled on her anger, her grief...the more it had _wept_. For her master. For her enemies. For all the ghosts that walked this world. When Lana first landed here, her senses had been completely blind to them. Now, it'd seemed as though their whispers outnumbered those of the living. It had been all her heart allowed her to hear now. And how it wept, wishing them all silent again, just as they'd been before she'd realized they were _always_ present. 

_'I want to understand... **why**.'_

_Help me understand. Master, I know you can hear me. Please. Help me understand._

She gave a scornful little laugh when she'd heard no answer yet again. Not even from him. Lana could not tell if these phantoms were incapable, or if they had simply been _cruel_. Within time, the winter's gentle hands had lulled her farther and farther adrift. Her eyes grew heavy until she'd felt she no longer cared to keep them open. In the passing moments, the harsh touch of cold also seemed no longer so uninviting. 

_Here I am._

Lana's lips could no longer utter even a whisper, so she'd let her heart speak for her.

_Here I am... I've done everything you've asked. If I let you take me...if I go with you, will you answer me then? Will you tell me **why**?_

She'd been too lost to even comprehend with whom she spoke now. There was _no one_. Rooted in her heart, within the most remote, most heavily fortified depths that had doggedly remained unbroken, Lana knew this. There still remained a lifeline tied to this piece buried at her core, but her grasp had grown dangerously languished around it. The further she descended, the closer the line had inched towards its end.

For every moment longer the silence endured, her body had felt its weight bear down on her more and more. She'd felt the weight on her eyes. She'd felt it on her limbs. She'd felt it pull her entire being down into pure freefall, and while her heart reeled at her initial dread, the sensation soon simply began to feel as though she were now taking flight. It no longer registered whether she'd been rising towards the cosmos or plunging into the void. All she felt then had been the windrush against her flesh.

_'What are you doing?'_

The voice came as a bare whisper. Lana had been convinced of this world's divine mischief. She hardly welcomed its disturbance _now_. Even if it had been but a breath upon her ears, it'd roused her enough to stir her fingers. The slipping line began to slow within her grasp.

_What am I doing? Sleeping. I'm **tired**._

_'Silly girl. You're sleeping_ now _? Even Master never pegged you for such a lazy thing.'_

_Master isn't here. He's left me. He's_ ignoring _me._

_'He isn't ignoring anyone. He's dead.'_

The bitter truth of these words brought a renewed breath to the girl's sunken lungs. It almost burned them to drink in so much air all at once.

_'You know. There is still unfinished business.'_

_Stop it. Stop talking to me._

_'And here you are. Taking a winter night's nap in the soft snow under a brimming, full moon.'_

_Be quiet, and leave me be._

_'Most people prefer summer days. On hot sands by the beach. And beneath the rays of a sun.'_

"S-Stop..."

Lana nearly coughed as she sputtered the word from her dried lips. It would seem as though with the faint movements that stirred her small form came the resurgence of the deathly cold that had briefly grown so natural to her flesh. She withdrew further within, tightening her arms around herself even more so. Her fingers twitched against them, feeling the impulse to move them to cover her ears. If it had not been so _damned_ cold, she would have done so without a moment's delay. Not that it would have done a thing to silence the voice, now growing so tauntingly clear. So achingly _familiar_.

_'Honestly. What_ are _you doing? Did you forget already?'_

"W-What..." Her own quivering voice rose with the deepening flow of her breaths. " _What_ are you talking about...?"

_'...You don't remember.'_

At her wits' end, she hissed aloud to her infuriating, absentee companion. "Remember... _what_...?" The following brief pause had been enough to convince the girl of how far her sanity had now gone.

"What...?" Lana uttered in vain once more.

When she heard no response, she'd felt the coils and knots constrict her very innards as she fumed against this world's incomprehensible trials. Her fingers clenched as they dug into the snow. Her gentle countenance contorted with her every vexing frustration, her every exhausting grievance as she fought against her bitter tears. Slowly, the embers of life rekindled within her until it reignited in a blaze. Upon her vitality's blustering rebirth, she'd found the might at last to force her defiance from her cold lungs, wailing in spiteful rebellion against the universe.

" _What?_ WHAT?! What do you mean to _say_?!"

Lana coughed as though her very lungs ached to breathe. Like a spectre suddenly risen to life once again, she cried to this world to remind it that she was still there. She cried to the universe to remind it that she'd still existed. Wracked by her dry, pained sobs, she squeezed her eyes tighter as she willed herself to rise. 

_'Goodness. Mind your temper. There is no reason to agonize so. I'm still here. So long as_ you _are.'_

The voice returned, clear as if it'd spoken right into her ears. The rapid clouds of her invigorated breaths came and went as her heart raced. Lana furrowed her brows in bewildering trepidation. She shook her head in a vain bid to bring clarity back to her wits.

"You want me to remember—remember what...?" she murmured to herself. "I don't understand—I don't...I don't _know_..."

_'Unfinished business. Many things about on this world. Many loose ends. Remember_ now _?'_

"Loose ends..." Lana uttered between her breaths.

_'Yes. Why did we come? Surely, you remember the answer to_ that _one, at least.'_

"...Why don't you damned ghosts just _tell_ me?" the girl hissed in her thinning patience.

_'Ghost? Hardly. Though...maybe one soon if you don't mind the time.'_

"Answer me!"

_'Always looking for answers. You've always been that way, but when did you get so lazy about it?'_

Before her anger would further obscure her mind, Lana had regained enough sense to pause and collect herself. She willed her eyes closed again and inwardly recalled her focus and concentration. She let her senses trace the rush of her blood coursing through her being. She let them ride the flow of air drawn in and out of her body. She allowed herself to feel each and every bit of this world as it anointed the very flesh she'd offered to it. She'd taken as long as it required for the seconds to slow again, back to a measure her mind could discern and comprehend.

_'See, now? You asked for answers. So go find them yourself.'_

Lana then opened her eyes.

_'Master isn't here. But you don't_ need _him. Just never forget what you've learned.'_

Her heart began to ease its pace. Its lines had been firm within her grasp again, and she'd held fast onto them. She would draw them until she'd found her way back.

_'Never lose sight of what **matters**.'_

Directing her calmed eyes upward, Lana looked to the expanse above this barren world. She'd almost forgotten the whole universe of all the continuous, interrelated movements and happenings—never stopped, never even slowing when she'd wept in fear of the collapse of her own much smaller one. 

And her fear had been for naught. The world she stood amidst very much remained.

_'All stories come to an end eventually. You know that.'_

In her renewed clarity, Lana continued to listen, now beyond just the words she'd heard. She'd searched for its essence. Felt for its bearings. The more she'd listened for, the more the signs revealed themselves, all falling into place.

_'Yours doesn't end here.'_

There had been no lament in Lana's heart when the silence returned. There had been no more grief. She did not cry. She did not shout. A gentle passing draft reminded her once again of the pallid solitude she'd left herself adrift in. _Yes_. There'd been only _her_. This world and its ghosts had been a mischievous lot. She'd been led to believe that it had been _they_ who drew her out to walk the very edge of the veil that separated them from the living. That it'd been their calls that beckoned and roused her to the ends of her sanity. That the voices she had conversed with had all been _theirs_.

_No_. She'd been alone this entire time. Alone with only her heart and the memories it housed within. It'd taken the entire journey for the young Sith girl to realize that the only voice she'd heard, the only voice that'd spoken had been her own.

Lana's frail form shrank where she'd been sitting within the snow. She rubbed her small, trembling hands over her arms and shoulders as she leveled her gaze back to the space within her boundaries, reading and measuring the lines within her sights. They'd still been faint to her young, inexperienced eyes, but now she _knew_ that they had indeed existed. There'd still been a destination they meant to reveal.

As the anxious uncertainty once again gripped her heart, her roving eyes spanned across the scope of her horizon, finding only the far reaches of nothing in all directions before her. Solitude was hardly any new acquaintance to her, but never had she felt the weight of its anguish bearing down on her to such profound depths.

The stark silence had grown to dampen her senses. Lulled by its false comfort, Lana had nearly jolted upon catching a faint sound railing from the distance behind her. Clinging to herself under her looming unease, she found her body could only seize and lock itself in response. She wanted sorely for a brief respite from solitude, but she had been unprepared to welcome another's sudden obtrusion into this secluded world just yet. The timing, she'd felt, simply seemed to have moved consistently against her, thrusting and propelling her into the riptide of happenings with neither a shadow of forewarning nor a glimmer of reprieve to be had.

Or, perhaps, the motions had all indeed been entirely by _design_.

The approaching herald may well have been an uninvited presence, but it'd been a glimpse of salvation nonetheless, one that the Sith girl would be foolish to refuse. The choice had been made clear—life or _death_.

Beneath a set of heavy boots, the sound of crunching ice and frost marked the closing proximity of the only other being to be found within sight. It rose and fell with the halting cadence of hesitance and trepidation.

"W-Who's there?"

Lana recognized the voice to be one belonging to some male youth. She stirred at the sound of his guarded query, still muffled over the distance set between them. With caution's pacing, she began to steer her gaze over her shoulder to search for his face, only to halt completely once her ears caught the distinct sound of shuffling hands against the clatter of a blaster rifle being drawn.

Under the night's cover of darkness, the young sentry could not discern with certainty who or what appeared to lie in the distance ahead. Remaining circumspect, he'd pulled his rifle from its sling into hold once he glimpsed the other's movement. At this distance beyond the bounds of their base, there hadn't been much danger outside of encountering the enemy or the few beast inhabitants of this planet. He loomed closer, softening his steps while his grip tightened around his rifle. Upon closer surveillance, he'd realized that it indeed had been a person's form he glimpsed. He furrowed his brow, drawing closer still, only to discover further that it appeared to be the form of a young woman. His hands eased where they'd held onto his rifle as he released a dazed breath at this bewildering encounter.

"Hello...?" he called once more in a dwindling voice.

Standing but several meters away from her now, the sentry came to a pause. His eyes lingered over her still form, curled into herself where she'd sat, facing the distance where there lied nothing his simple, Force-blind eyes could see. They then followed the trail of strewn garments and clothing left about, from the piled cloth closest to his feet to the indistinguishable articles scattered at her back. His composure began to reel, unnerved while his thoughts scoured to comprehend this sight as it led his eyes back toward her.

" _Hello_?" His voice shed its distrustful edge, now lined by undertones of relative solicitude.

The sentry stood by in watch as the woman had been roused to movement again, slowly turning her gaze until it'd met his own this time. When they had, his eyes widened at his profound shock upon glimpsing her face at last—that it'd been the face of a mere _girl_ lingering there, staring back at him. And only a fractional moment followed before he'd further come to realize _who_ this girl was.

"M-Mistress," his faint voice uttered.

Jolted by his unsettled thoughts, he quickly hoisted his rifle back over his shoulder to free his arms as he hastened himself, trudging through the snow towards her. 

"What are you...?" he murmured while he reached to gather and scoop up pieces of her garments from the freezing ice as he went. 

Already short of breath by the time he'd reached her, he nervously tossed his addled sight about in confusion at finding her _here_ , of all places and times, and in this particular manner. Pulling the long shawl from the bundle he'd collected, he quickly threw the cloth over her shoulders.

"Mistress—what are you are doing out here?"

He watched as the thick clouds of her quivering breaths rolled from her lips while he'd taken care to cover her, only now realizing upon his fluttering reticence that she was still completely bare. Even upon his mindful tact, his eyes could not avoid catching inadvertent glimpses of the girl's flesh as he helped her to her feet, witnessing most notably the monstrous scar stretched across nearly the entire length of her back. It'd been the only visible blemish upon what appeared to be the most immaculate and pristine flesh his eyes had ever seen of a woman. When he'd spotted the girl pull the cloth tighter to herself in an impulse to preserve some manner of modesty, he realized they'd lingered a moment too long and quickly averted his gaze entirely.

Before any further wayward thoughts wandered through his mind, the demure youth anxiously began to undo the closures on his heavy greatcoat. 

"It's not safe out here—not...not as you are..." Slipping off his outermost layer, he then offered it respectfully to her. "Please. It's freezing."

Lana's lowered glance peered at the heavy garment the sentry held out for her. She'd been stricken by the plain indignity of this very encounter, but the better part of her senses urged her of the triviality of such concerns at the present moment. In her tentative silence, she reached to accept the coat and tactfully pulled it on. Its heft had offered her as much warmth as the very layers she'd carried with her out into the winter, and its length had been more than ample to cover what had been left of her bareness. While she slipped on the greatcoat, the sentry had gone to fetch her discarded pair of tall winter boots, which he'd then set down for her. 

"We'd best be heading back— _careful_ , Miss—!" Throwing out his hands to assist her, he watched in his hovering wariness as the girl stumbled trying to step back into her shoes. Once she'd regained her bearings, he continued his thought. "It's almost three kilometers out from the base here. I... I'm not sure how you..."

Pausing along the fringes of his baffled curiosity, he decided against questioning the Sith girl, minding his station well beneath her rank. He then cleared himself with a heavy sigh.

"It's a long walk ahead. As I've said...we'd best get back soon."

Lana acknowledged him with a merest glance before silently nodding in accordance.

The irony would have been comical if she'd been in any mood for laughter. Now walking in step with a companion on her journey back—a true, corporeal companion—Lana had found their current silence to be even more pervasive than when she'd been alone. The sentry had been purposefully taciturn, she was certain, but she did not dwell on the store of conceivable reasons why. And though she would never have openly conceded to this, she had truthfully been more than grateful for the assurance he'd given her by his mere presence.

Once they'd reached another side of the base, the young soldier led them to a heavily sealed entry point not unlike the doors she herself had passed through in her departure. After gaining access through the armored door, he yielded for the Sith girl to enter first before following in after. He'd taken liberty to peer over her countenance as she passed him. Through the duration of their long journey, he'd dared only to take few glances of her, primarily to assure her well-being and that she'd still been following his escort. 

Taking rest in the plain antechamber directly through the sealed doors, he first set down the bundle of garments he'd collected for the Sith girl. Slipping the sling of his blaster rifle from his shoulder, the sentry then took it to store away on a unit where other inactive service weapons had been held. While shaking the flurry of snow and frost from his uniform jacket, he glanced curiously over at his muted companion once more to see that she hadn't moved a single step from the door since they'd entered. The girl's gaze, too, hadn't appeared to lift a degree from the ground.

"...Mistress?"

Lana's small fingers clenched where they'd clung to the high collar of the borrowed greatcoat, but she did not stir.

The young soldier shifted where he stood as he nervously turned his eyes about the room, uncertain of what to do or say in light of the puzzling circumstances.

"Shall I…" he murmured aloud as he wracked his mind for some appropriate words to offer, "Shall I...offer you some priva—?"

"You'll tell no one of how you found me." Lana's voice cut cleanly across his own before he completed his thought. She spoke softly, and while it hadn't been an immediate command, there had been an imperative emphasis within her tone. She drew her eyes up at last to find the young soldier's own staring back at her in unquestioning regard. If it had not been for this, for the very plain fact that the girl had seen little else beneath the youth that he was, she would have sooner simply commanded his compliance through the Force.

In his eyes, in his movements, his comportment, Lana had read the same degree of uncertainty, the same doubt and disquietude that she herself undeniably shared. But she'd taken care not to don her shortcomings as guilelessly as he had.

Lana's thoughts then bitterly returned to that of the monstrous Jedi Padawan, inexplicably reminded of him by this young sentry. In essence, their semblant age had been as far as their similarities reached in her memory's eyes. Where the despicable Padawan had been furtively deceitful in every precise manner, there had been nothing this soldier hid behind other than his forthright sincerity worn bright on his sleeve.

The young soldier appeared to hesitate upon such a private request, but another glance of the Sith girl's beckoning gaze had been all that was necessary to ensure his fidelity. Pressing his lips thin, he gave a gentle shake of the head in his affirmation. 

"I won't."

Another length of silence hung over the two occupants of the antechamber. Although his better senses urged him to, the soldier did not feel it appropriate to abruptly take his leave of her just yet. There'd been too many lingering questions and loose ends his conscience would not permit him to dismiss.

"If... If I may ask... What were you doing alone out there?" he voiced only after gathering his wits enough to inquire. "And...in such a _state_?" he sheepishly underscored as his eyes drew back to the bundle of clothing still undisturbed in its pile.

"Meditating." Lana's answer had been sharp in its feigned assuredness. "I was... I was meditating."

The youth had taken her small lie for what she'd intended it to be, daring not to question the Sith or their ways, all so foreign and esoteric to all outside of their circle.

Within the comfort of the base's interior warmth, Lana's borrowed greatcoat began to stifle. She shifted in mild discomfort before finally roused to move her feet. Languidly, she paced over to where the soldier had lain her clothing down. Sorting through them one by one, she began to collect and neatly drape them over her arm. She'd felt the sweltering sense of indecency even under the cover of the black night beyond these walls. There'd been no question of her remotely attempting to clothe herself in the youth's presence as they current stood. Although there'd been no threat of roaming eyes by him either, the impropriety of the very idea barred it from her slightest consideration.

"How...did you get that scar on your back, by the way?"

Lana blanched at hearing his harmless inquiry, stopping in a complete halt. 

"I apologize," the youth murmured when he'd seen her abrupt outward response. "But...I couldn't help but notice—"

"—It's none of your concern."

After gathering the last of her belongings in silence, she eased her countenance before briefly turning back to him, feeling the gradual swell of inward lament for her shortness. 

"We all have our trials. Surely, you must have endured many yourself," she commented sedately. Her eyes shifted between the soldier and the garments draped over her arm as she mulled over a burgeoning thought.

"I..." Straightening herself, she recalled as much of her stateliness and decorum as she could gather, raising her gaze high as she addressed the soldier with a renewed air of formality. 

"I'd prefer if you...would escort me back to my quarters, if you would be so kind," she requested in her most reserved humility. "If... If there are no pressing matters you must attend to, that is," she prudently added.

The youth swallowed before a deep breath in a bid to keep from voicing any further insipid thoughts. He shook his head in response. 

"No. I have none, Ma'am. Certainly, I'll walk with you." 

He hastened over to the door leading inward into the facility to open it for her while the Sith girl passively followed in his steps.

"The upper level," Lana instructed as they approached one of the facility's main lifts, leaving it to him to operate it for her.

While she'd held no intentions of holding any further conversations with this young soldier, she'd felt compelled to say something, if not simply for the courtesy of the act.

"I don't think we've met. What's your name, soldier?" she inquired in a small voice.

He peered at her briefly before a sheepish gleam of a smile lit his features. 

"Um. We... We _did_ meet, Ma'am— _Miss_ ," he quickly amended himself, feeling it somewhat unbecoming to address such a young girl like so.

Lana furrowed her brow as she tried to recall. It was unlike her to forget the names of those she'd met, let alone their _faces_ entirely. Her inability to make any connections began to weigh on her brewing guilt.

"Well, no—just the one time," he quickly assured her. "I was the one who..." The youth paused for a moment's breath, considering the most delicate of means to express what he'd meant to say. "I pulled you away from...from His Lordship. At the compound."

Once she realized what he'd meant, she fell to a stark silence before limply nodding in acknowledgement as she remembered the soldier who urged her to her feet, who peeled her from her master's lifeless body, dragging her out of the calamity that had broken out within the walls of the compound. Lana was only grateful for the lift to have eased to a halt just then. As the door swept open, she brushed ahead of the soldier to step out into the open hall for a clearing breath.

Following her out, the youth lingered some steps behind her. The image of the devastated girl weeping over her master's body still had not left his mind. He'd recalled the arrival of the Sith Lord and his apprentice on Hoth. He'd had his impressions about what to expect of the Sith then, only to see his every prospect and presumption undone the more he'd observed of them. One did not imagine an old, lean man of near-ancient stature and a light-hearted humor to be the formidable Sith Lord charged with commanding the very generals who'd governed their miserable half of the planet. One would not have any sooner envisioned the quiet young girl in his company, just a touch too thin for her tall height, though lovely all the same, to have been remotely prepared to march at the helm of any battle to be fought over this frozen hovel of a world.

"...My name is Asa, Miss."

Lana heard the timid murmur of the youth's voice and turned.

The soldier tentatively stepped closer, stopping just before the Sith girl. "If you were still wondering."

With only a fraction of her heart to bear, she softly turned from him before continuing in steady strides down the corridor. 

While she'd been intent on her silence, she reserved no scorn against her dutiful escort, who merely followed on in pace with his willing charge. Noting how complacent he'd seemed to be, trailing at her heels, the Sith girl progressively slowed her steps in a subtle bid to coax him forward on par with her strides.

"Lana," her small voice finally uttered aloud, a polite return to his own humble response.

Her unexpected address momentarily turned his gaze. "...Beniko," he acknowledged with a subdued glimmer of a smile. "Yes, of course I know _your_ name, Miss," he nearly laughed. "Every soldier at this base has been made to know the names of all Sith Lords who have passed through this world."

Upon another of his sheepish glances, he'd glimpsed the bleak shade that had washed over her countenance. 

"There haven't been as many as you'd think," he'd been quick to assure her. Drawing in a contemplative breath, the youth turned forward. "They send the most expendable of us here. And only _sparingly_ do they send those who would otherwise bring them glory and victory elsewhere."

Lana released a great breath she'd been holding in her lungs after leading them around the next corner. "Am I expected to bring glory and victory here on Hoth, then?"

The youth pressed his lips thin in consideration. "So long as the fighting stops. I don't think anyone here cares anymore," he admitted in dulling spirits. Only too late had he realized the treasonous undercurrents of his words, even though they had been entirely unintended. He quickly raised his eyes in apprehension toward the Sith girl who continued on at the lead. He couldn't be certain by her undisturbed manner if she'd even heard his remark, but his sinking dread urged him to prudently excuse himself.

"Apologies, Mistress. I... I did not mean..." He'd found himself unable to keep from stumbling over his words in his panic. As they floated adrift into the encompassing silence, he willed himself to stay them altogether before they'd sunken him deeper into the tilled grave.

"I've read documents. Reports. Personal accounts of all the battles and the struggles on this planet," Lana spoke, as if to simply continue on the thread of his thoughts in conversation. "It... It must have been grueling."

Unconsciously easing their pace by her lead, she paused and peered at the soldier. "How long have you been here?"

The consummate purity of her question had him quite taken. When he looked to her once again, looked into the face of the woman who'd been his superior in every proper manner, he'd found that it'd only been a mere girl whose gaze had been searching his own. For all of his subservient deference, he'd nearly forgotten this. It'd been this uncanny similitude he'd only come to recognize on the most subconscious level that had drawn the youth to speak so forwardly before the Sith girl. Only now had he begun to ponder on their strange congruity. On _why_ it was that he'd felt so compelled to openly speak to her. He'd known how it felt to be uncertain, to be bereft of so much one held dear, to feel alone, abandoned, and _afraid_. This mortal frailty had been a unanimous thing shared between the forsaken brothers and sisters of this world—so unnaturally innate now, that he'd forgotten its pervasive essence until its reach had seized the heart of one that had been so pristinely unsullied.

"I was stationed here just before the Treaty was signed," he answered in a small voice upon realizing that he'd almost forgotten how long it had truly been. "The fighting hasn't even come close to stopping since. And I'm certain it hasn't seen any rest even since long before I'd arrived."

"Hoth has been a killing field since the start of the war." Lana's remark had come tinged with forbearing lament.

"Still. I am thankful that I haven't been here long."

"Since _before_ the Treaty?" she inquired upon his assurance. "It must be at least two years, now."

For a young lad like himself to have wasted the last measure of his youth away, condemned to the abysmal desolation of this world—it'd been a disheartening misfortune Lana could not sincerely wish upon anyone. And there'd been others _far_ more deserving of such misery than this tame youth.

He'd grown melancholy in the following seconds, when the sound of their synchronous footfalls had been the only thing audible in the vacant halls.

"It isn't as long as some of the others who've been stationed here, Miss." A morose thought even heavier in its dolor had kept some relative perspective upon his own tribulations. "And I can't imagine...what trials the _Sith_ —what you yourself must have undergone."

The ordinary civilian did not know the nature of the trials faced by the Sith, but the unforgiving brutality the Empire placed upon the children blessed by the Force's essence was nothing the populace was unfamiliar with. It was not uncommon for parents of such younglings to hide their children's gifts, refusing to subject them to the Empire's compulsory demands. And more often than not, they were inevitably discovered, their children torn away to be sent to the hearths of Korriban while they paid the price for their treason. Even a parent's duty was expected, first and foremost, to be devoted to the Empire before their own, and countless had already given their blood for believing otherwise. 

This was no unfamiliar reality to Lana, and she had been grateful for her father's discretion involving their own matters. She briefly dwelled over thoughts of her Papa. Thoughts of _home_. She recalled the look of pride and faith he'd held the day they came to take her away to Korriban, only to realize over the years of retrospective clarity that his smile had indeed veiled the impenetrable undertones of grief that had taken root in his heart. She wondered if his bereavement had ever truly subsided, even as he'd seen her again in her triumphant return from Korriban. She'd come home into the warmth of his embrace, only for her poor Papa to watch her go once again. Emerging from the great furnaces of Korriban a fully forged Sith, she'd then been destined for the trials the coldest depths of the galaxy reserved next for her.

And here she now was. At the heart of its winter.

"...I know soldiers who have never left this planet since the beginning of the war."

Here, she'd played at the thoughts and wonders of home, when her test continued still.

"...To think that...that they'd finally signed a treaty. But look at all this. It's been over eighteen months."

Lana desired dearly to return home. But as with soldiers like this youth, it would never become a possibility until their winter was brought to an end.

"We only want to go _home_. All of us, Miss."

_Home_. The very word inspired such a longing in her heart.

"...Does it snow where you come from, Asa?" Lana asked in the barest voice.

Surprised by her offhanded question, the young soldier looked at her. "No. Never."

"I _hate_ the cold," the girl spoke on the swell of a mere whisper.

Oblivious to the underlying, unspoken meaning beneath her words, the youth gave a soft little laugh. "I've had my fill of snow for the rest of my life, too, Miss."

As they rounded another corner deeper through the catacomb of corridors, the automated lights began to flicker on one by one once their sensors picked up the pair of approaching steps.

"Tell me, Asa. I've read in reports that they've been routing more supplies to Hoth since the Treaty had been signed. Is this not true?" Lana questioned him, the presence of her voice returning.

"They have," the youth nodded in confirmation. "But it isn't as though the rations have changed. More blasters, more ammunition. None of us _want_ any of that. What extra food and resources they've scraped for us, the officers all hoard for themselves."

Conflicted by the grievances behind this thought, the soldier hesitated before speaking further.

"The enlisted outnumber commissioned officers 1000 to 1. And we're _still_ cold. _Still_ starving. When the rest of the galaxy has already stopped its fighting."

Lana's brows furrowed upon hearing this.

"It's those generals, Miss," he emphasized bitterly. "No one dares to speak against any of them. And we _mustn't_ , of course. But we— _all_ of us—we're just as ready to see this fight's end as _they_ are."

_'They.'_ The _enemy_ , Lana's mind drew.

"Why do you suppose they haven't made a single move either, Miss? They're waiting. Just like we are. They're waiting for some excuse...some _sign_. Just like _we_ do." 

The youth continued to confide in the Sith girl with withering morale until he'd once again grown rueful over his own spoken admissions. Regardless of her reception to them, they were words an Imperial soldier must never utter.

"I apologize, Miss... If I may ask—please don't say any of this to the generals. They'll not tolerate a word of it," he quickly excused himself as he had before. "But they're not the ones fighting. They don't _realize_..." 

Once he'd glimpsed her distant gaze, his voice trailed off. It'd been disheartening to see the Sith girl fall into silence, and he feared he may have spoken too far out of bounds this time. Swallowing his anxieties, he licked his lips as his gaze dropped low. 

"I'm sorry, Mistress. I'll not bother you with another word of this."

Lana's silence had not been a response of displeasure, only the byproduct of her deep contemplation. Although it had been unwarranted, she'd come to value the words this young soldier had imparted. She'd never once considered seeking the earnest thoughts and advisement of the common ranks, only to see now, how sorely she'd undervalued their enlightening revelations.

Glimpsing the familiar door coming up at the farther end of the corridor, Lana raised her gaze as they neared her quarters. Easing her steps to a halt, she hovered before the locked entryway, given pause by a burgeoning thought that had been lingering on her mind.

"I suppose...you'd like me dismissed, now—"

"—The Jedi Knight," she crossed her words over his upon voicing her intended inquiry. "That depraved Padawan's master," she slowly turned to face the youth, "What's become of her?"

Considering the course of the previous day's events, he answered tentatively. "Detained, I believe."

"They'd captured her alive?" she murmured aloud, rather surprised to learn this.

"She had the sense to surrender once she realized she was outnumbered." The soldier recalled more of what he'd heard regarding their prisoner. "I believe...she is to be executed following her interrogation. To be made an example of—"

"— _No_."

Startled by her sudden, definitive response, the soldier halted. "Mistress...?"

"I gave no warrant for an execution."

"Her sentence...has already been decided, Mistr—"

"By _whom_?" she demanded with cutting severity over his dwindling presence.

"The commanders...Mistress Beniko," he answered, averting his wayward gaze.

" _I_ am commander."

Pressing his lips thin, the young soldier had grown anxious in the face of the Sith girl's mounting ire. He swiftly excused himself yet again in a bid to temper her. "Forgive me, Mistress. I do not propose to challenge your intentions. I am...merely relaying to you what I know."

"Then relay to _them_ this order— _I_ shall interrogate the Jedi."

In this moment, the soldier had found himself caught between the displeasure of two faces—that of the circle of men who commanded their army, and that of the Sith who sought to directly subvert them.

"But...Mistress Beniko—"

" _ **I**_ shall interrogate the Jedi," Lana repeated her express command. "And _**I**_ shall pass judgment accordingly."

Ill at ease, the young soldier relented with a nod in deference to her authority. 

"The generals will not be pleased," he uttered to her with apprehension, daring to peer at the Sith girl once more in an earnest display of his welling concerns. "Just a caution, Mistress." 

Hanging on the fringes of her still silence, he then politely bowed his head in respectful obeisance. "I'll relay to them your command immediately."

 

* * *

 

Immaculately composed even under the constraint of the set of chains that kept her hands and feet bound, the Jedi Master awaited, rooted in one of the solitary pair of seats at the small rectangular table in the observation room where she'd been detained. The chains had been threaded through the reinforced table, inhibiting her of any range of mobility from the chair in which she'd been confined.

Lana examined her countenance from the door, visibly reflected in the expanse of the mirrored window along the opposite wall. The image of her visage hardly seemed to register the Sith girl's presence in its immovable grace. 

The woman must have been just beyond half a century in age, but her short, tousled ringlets remained quite golden, brighter and fairer than even Lana's own locks. They'd become quite a disheveled mess now, untouched since the scuffle she'd held up against the Sith's escort guard before her capture. 

Only once her visitor had taken her place in the seat across from her did the Jedi remotely stir. Her entwined fingers loosened where her hands had lain folded at her lap, rattling her heavy chains through the still air. She slowly opened her eyes, serenely regarding her guest with only the silence of a clearing breath. 

Every facet of her face bore her age, all apart from her exceptional eyes—bright blue and fresh, even while facing a possible end she could in no way be certain of. They'd reminded Lana of _another's_. The image of her mother's younger self in the single photograph she'd kept of her appeared in her mind. _Her_ eyes had been of the same shade of blue. Though unlike what she'd remembered of her mother, this woman had not been much a beautiful one. But she was _striking_. Quite unlike her mother. Where Lana had remembered her to be a doleful and melancholy woman in much of her short-lived memory of her, this woman carried herself with such unerring dignity and an inextinguishable spirit, every bit the polar antithesis of frailty.

"I wanted to see for myself if you were at all the craven your subordinate had been," the Sith girl spoke candidly to the Jedi.

Tilting her gaze higher in a curious turn of her glance, a glimmer of her wry, facetious humor flickered in her eyes. 

"You'll find that most old women bound for death are quite unconcerned by what young Sith girls think of them."

Lana's lips stiffened at the Jedi's impassive rebuff. She calmed her own nerves, willfully disallowing herself to be antagonized by this woman. Letting her lowered gaze skim across the plain surface of the table, the girl raised her chin as she reconstituted her bearings.

"You kept your Padawan from attacking me. You could have allowed him to kill me." She steered her discerning eyes back at the Jedi seated across from her. "Why did you stop him?"

The woman drew a tentative breath, though her tenuous regard remained plainly unaffected.

"He was not of sound mind. And above that—you were unarmed," she answered, matching the girl's own assumed austerity.

"And I nearly _killed_ him."

The abrupt rattle of the Jedi woman's chains nearly jolted Lana when she'd briskly shifted. Placing her hands against the edge of the table, the woman leaned forward as she bore her emphatic gaze. 

"I stopped _you_ , too," she curtly reminded her. Although she'd ultimately failed to save her Padawan's life from the erupting violence, it'd been her swift actions that had kept the fallen Sith Lord's indignant apprentice from exacting her vengeful reprisal against him.

It did not elude Lana's wiser senses that her actions had, too, kept her from descending to the despicable Padawan's levels of depravity. Swallowing, she gravely contemplated upon the consequences of the Jedi woman's actions.

"I am your enemy. And yet, you'd foregone the well-being of your own to protect me."

The Jedi eased herself upright, folding her hands over the table's surface. As though basking in her own unspoken amusement, her locked gaze shifted in its softening humor once again.

"Do your eyes always see in _only_ such muted shades, young Sith...?" she questioned with an adroit candor. Glimpsing her counterpart's telling silence, she thinned her lips. "I did not come that day to face my enemies. I came to greet my _allies_."

Despite the earnest undertones beneath the woman's claim, Lana hardly felt anything beyond the sting of an arrant insult. She drew a breath as she felt her being harden at its core at the blatant contradiction still glaring her in the face. 

"Evidently, your Padawan's eyes saw in even fewer shades than my own," she returned, willfully chastening her deep-seated umbrage to steady her tone.

The Sith's scathing remark tempered the Jedi's boldness with swift precision. Lana watched as the woman picked up her gaze and swallowed.

"My Padawan's intentions were hidden even from me," she spoke plainly. Her gaze grew bitter as the sobering disenchantment began to grip her heavy heart. "I had no idea he'd broken the pact and armed himself with his lightsaber."

Narrowing her gaze with focus, Lana peered into the woman's mind. She'd felt no resistance or obstruction, only her clear willingness to offer up her unhindered depths to be read.

"You're telling the truth..." she uttered upon her evaluation. There had been no hidden intent to be found within this woman's essence.

"Not all Jedi are _liars_ , young Sith."

Lana once again felt the caustic aftereffects of the woman's wit singe her heart. 

"Although it would seem your Padawan _was_."

As silence overcame her, the Jedi allowed her chilled gaze to linger. Despite the incisive nature of her words, she had been keen to present herself without any manner of hostility toward the girl. She'd, in fact, grown increasingly curious upon their every exchanged word, uncertain of what to expect of her.

"What do you intend to question me about, child?" she pertly asked. Her patience for circular conversation had begun to grow thin now.

"You think very little of me, don't you?" Lana retorted, noting the woman's condescending manner of address. "Your own disciple was himself a youth not many years older than me. Yet not once had you addressed him as such. I implore you, Master—do not think me a foolish young girl. I come to you, in my own fallen master's stead, your _equal_."

The Jedi woman's brows stirred almost imperceptibly. "My sincere apologies, Sith _Lord_ ," she responded in complaisance to her appeal, although the air of her subdued condescension had not been filtered entirely.

Lana faintly relented a breath upon the woman's barefaced hauteur. Tightening her lips, she let her eyes sink towards her hands lain at her lap. Seeing how deeply entangled her fingers had become within the cloth of her jacket, she willed them to ease once she'd collected another drawn breath. In her mind, she'd resolved to come here—come to _this_ cell to speak to _this_ woman. There had been questions she'd meant to ask, but it'd now become difficult to recall much of any discernible words through the burning white of her simmering contempt. She could not allow her lips to voice another word in the trail of this exchange, so Lana willed herself silent until she could again bear her mind open and regain its clarity. Temperance was not simply a motive or rationale for her to carry forward, the unbroken piece of her heart dutifully reminded. It was a necessity.

The obscure shroud of curiosity that surrounded this girl was a certain thing the Jedi woman perceived even from her very first glimpse of her. Young Sith apprentices were often exceedingly zealous and daring in their feckless mannerisms, eager to advance and exhaust all that their horizons cast their way. On some measure, the woman had come to learn, this had made a rare few of these apprentices even _more_ treacherous to deal with than their masters. It'd been a curious thing indeed, that there lied no discernible vestige of such artifice to be found within this girl. None within the organic subtlety of her gestures, none within the paths of her perpetually wayfaring gazes, none at all within the pensive breaths between her words and her silence. When she looked upon this girl, what she'd seen before her was a question—something to be figured, something to observe and _engage_. 

The girl had been _suffering_ , she knew. The anger had been clearly illustrated across her every perceivable facet, but there had been no true malice that coursed beneath the surface. While she'd unflinchingly displayed her capabilities and declared her resolve, she remained unthreatening and benign in her intentions. No aid of the Force was needed to draw this much of her. She was a storm of emotions and unbridled thoughts, now left to turn and roam without direction. At its center, the Jedi stood as the solitary witness within the tempest's eye, where it'd remained just calm enough in these narrow bounds for the outsider to gaze into its very heart.

The plain simplicity of her private knowledge now began to hang heavily on her own. While in no way certain of the young Sith's motives, the woman's wiser senses kept her guarded and wary in light of her unpromising circumstances. Even so, her unyielding conscience proved to be as resilient as ever, and she'd found her bare heart at pity's mercy for the wretched girl.

While her Sith counterpart's silence endured, the Jedi woman took it upon herself to usher the youth to speak. 

"I was told that I would be subjected to interrogation." She turned her gaze aside as she invitingly pitched herself forward, bearing the glimmer of her returning humor. "Interrogations do typically entail... _questioning_."

Mistaking the woman's guiding hand for yet another veiled slight, Lana immediately directed her eyes back across the table toward her.

"You seem to have a very narrow opinion of us Sith, Master Jedi," she responded in a hush of a voice. "I have no inherent desire for violence. Nor do I wish to seek retribution." Refusing to be roused any further, she calmly cast off the thickened glaze of her displeasure before proceeding to chasten the woman's any lingering prejudice. 

"...I want to _understand_."

Behind the waning volume of the girl's voice was a swell carrying her mounting resolve from within. It was gradual in its gain, but the Jedi woman could foresee the heights of its crest long before it would even arrive. She'd determined to ride it, to test its waters and judge for herself what manner of fortitude could summon forth such a force. To see where it was bound. She would not allow herself to be swept away by its tides, and she'd hoped that upon surpassing such trials, she would find herself another step closer toward its terminus. 

Dropping her gaze, she directed her insights within as she contemplated and evaluated the girl's words. _Understanding_. That had been the very same rationale that persuaded her to journey in order meet these people in the first place. It would have been the first instance she would deliberately meet the Empire, free of arms and without the obligations of violence under any pretense of dire exigence. How grievously awry it had all gone, she lamented. And it'd been her own humbling penance to know _explicitly_ where the fault had lain.

" _Why_...?"

The Jedi woman's eyes had been drawn by the faint plea before her. She looked at the Sith girl, only to find herself sunken in her own rueful remorse upon glimpsing the abject despondence that had overtaken her colors. Just as the girl appeared no longer able to bear keeping her gaze level, the Jedi felt the compelling urge to peel her own eyes away. But she could not. She'd known that she _must_ not. 

"Why did this happen?" Lana uttered as the swelling overflow from within began to surge past its bounds. These were not the words her thoughts sought to ask, but those that her shattered heart begged answers for. Unable to will herself to stay them, the words continued to pour forth, carried along with the coursing currents.

"Can you explain to me—why is it my master has been slain?"

The Jedi woman became grave in her silence as she watched the girl before her perilously falter along the precipice of her own disciplined fortitude.

"I am afraid I have no answer for you. None that would bring to you any satisfaction. Nor do I have words to provide you much of any solace." Her response came gently, though she'd held firm to her forthright convictions.

The woman watched as the Sith girl drew her eyes from her folded hands to meet her own. She witnessed how purely they'd betrayed her grief and anguish. How the meticulous control that she'd endeavored so stubbornly to keep over herself had waned as she'd inched toward the very brink of her own wreckage. For all her assumed stoicism, the woman had glimpsed clearly no malign intent or even the merest trace of wickedness in her counterpart. For a young Sith to have journeyed past such crossings without being swallowed by the abyss, the woman had been convinced of the girl's undoubtedly formidable constitution. But it'd also been difficult to ignore her implacable reservations toward her. To witness of this girl such a capacity within her heart, the woman suspected that she'd been indeed ill-prepared for the exhaustive labors she'd been so abruptly thrust upon.

_Green. Inexperienced. This girl is not ready._

Locking her gaze upon the Sith girl's, the Jedi woman resolved not to turn away. She'd meant to carry on the dialogue of their own construction, even with the looming cloud of uncertainty overhead that threatened to unravel it all at any single misstep. Taking her leap of faith, she crossed the threshold and held her hand outstretched to her, and she hoped dearly that the girl would take it.

"I need you to tell me— _tell_ me, child—what it is that you _want_."

Peering into the woman's countenance, Lana found no more of her remote pretension. Between the austerity of her gaze and the solemn timbre of her voice, she'd read the earnest signature of her intentions. For the initial seconds following, there had been no words within reach for her to grasp. There'd been a disquieting ambivalence buried deep within that gave her hesitation to answer. When asked, Lana knew in her heart what _she_ desired. But carried along the train of her conscience, she'd known that was neither the answer the Jedi woman was looking for, nor the one she sought to impart.

Before the thoughts properly formed in her mind, Lana found herself murmuring the words as if led by intuition. 

"The soldiers... They're starving. Weary." 

Her eyes flitted away at her burgeoning reticence. As she considered what to say, her thoughts brought her upon the memory of the previous night. Of the words, the feelings—all the residual traces of what her experiences culminated to. 

"The only desire left in their hearts is to go _home_."

Another silence lingered between them. The woman's gaze shifted upon hearing the girl's particular words, compelled toward yet another trail of conscious musings—her astute contemplation of the very question that had been this single, young Sith girl.

"How long have you been on this planet?" she asked her in a lowered voice.

Lana pressed her lips together tentatively, knowing that it truly had not been long at all. Not nearly long enough to permit her to speak of any toils or agony the rest already condemned here had all so hauntingly become acquainted with.

The Jedi woman smiled, offering a breath of a laugh. Her disposition shifted as she let her gaze roam, withdrawing into her own thoughtful abstractions. 

" _No one_ who has endured the trials of this forsaken corner of the galaxy...is ever inclined to idly ponder on its mysteries," she mused, recalling a certain memory to mind. "And here, I find this...Sith girl. Wandering about some barren compound at the heart of perpetual winter. As though it were some... _wonder_ of this world's to uncover." 

She drew her eyes back to find Lana's own. "I assure you, the only things of wonder to be found on this world are its _ghosts_ , my dear. And even I would not wish to walk among them."

Somewhat displaced by the Jedi woman's rather arcane insights, Lana's voice waned with her next words. 

"I, too, wish to return home, Master. That is why..." 

Her voice hung aloft, caught on the swell of her hitching breath. She paused and swallowed before recalling what nerves she had left to gather and returned her attention in full regard to the woman across from her. 

"That is why I am _here_. We are not ghosts. We do not belong on this world." Upon her rebounding resolve, she straightened and raised her renewed gaze. "And I believe you desire the same thing."

Lowering her eyes, the woman pensively deepened her breath as she considered the words to follow. 

"...Have you a _promise_ to offer me, child?" she inquired gently, turning her glance in faithful expectation. She would commit to her daring step towards the covenant, commending herself entirely unto the Sith girl's virtue.

"An end to this. That is my promise. I expect the same of you, Jedi."

Swallowing, she shut her eyes as she gave her solemn nod. 

"All right," the woman breathed in a hush. 

She opened her brimming blue eyes to find the girl's own golden ones staring back. Like peering into a mirror's reflection, she trusted the image she'd glimpsed, placing her wholehearted faith into the words it'd given as though they'd been her own. "You have my promise, then."

Only after the woman had spoken her compliance did Lana turn to reach into her bag slung over the edge of her chair's back. Only then had she felt it permissible to yield to her guest the precious, remaining remnant of her master's toils.

"For two weeks," she began, recalling the image of the old man's labor to memory, "my master spent day after consecutive day...drafting this document." 

Lana revealed in her possession the slim, reinforced case that held the drive containing their armistice charter. She placed it flat on the table's surface, but could not bring herself to lift her hand from it. It'd contained the best of her master's ideals, the best of their collective wills for the salvation of Hoth's forsaken populace.

" _'Does this phrase sound right? Is this section clear enough? Do the proposals here sound fair?'_ " she echoed aloud the apprehensive misgivings the old man had wallowed in throughout the whole of those two weeks. " _'Will the Republic find agreement with this? With_ us... _?'_ "

__Lana licked her lips before releasing a deep breath. "I was...his mere apprentice. No one of consequential note. No one of any political bearing, of any admissible experience to seek counsel from. And yet he'd made certain that my eyes had read over each and every word of it the same as he. I've memorized its contents entirely."_ _

__She recalled the numerous times the man had consulted her input, always being sure that his apprentice had been a part of the process. He'd made certain that it had not been his _sole_ work and thoughts that had conceived this document, taking great care to allow her eyes and hands to help shape and steer their craft—to _learn_ the diligence and the world of lessons permitted beyond her privileged frame of reference._ _

__It'd been the gentle touch of the woman's hand over her own that had drawn the girl back to the present moment. She'd understood—this document was the last thing that held any trace of her master left in her possession. And from what her own eyes had observed, the girl continued to hold true to his ideals as though the man had still been alive to direct her himself. She _knew_ the girl's path would not be any easier from this point forward, but there'd been something intractable about her heart and spirit that had drawn the lines tethered to her own faith._ _

__The Jedi did not know this Sith Lord or his apprentice well, but she'd seen enough of the exceptional pair to glean something quite aside from the usual kind she'd encountered of the Empire. She could imagine aptly how it'd come to be that this certain master had crossed paths and chosen this particular apprentice, undoubtedly led by the Force's own design itself. This girl had been taught well in her piety and faith toward her own just convictions—to be of sound mind and heart. The woman knew well that even the most hardy of their own youths within the Order lacked these essences. It'd truly been a rare kind to find in the whole of the galaxy._ _

__Grasping the girl's hand, she gently lifted it from the case, setting it aside before taking the item into her own possession._ _

__Lana's breath nearly hitched as she felt the absence of the woman's touch, almost maternal in its tender care. Feeling the pressure of her returning tears, she resolved diligently from then on to keep them warded off. Sith did not weep. She recalled and recited this to herself within. Even more importantly, her master would not accept them._ _

__Pulling her hands back to herself, she folded them at her lap before raising her eyes as she recomposed herself._ _

__"Please," she breathed steadily, "Read it. In three days' time, we shall meet again. And I should like to hear your answer then, Master."_ _

__Even as her chains suddenly disengaged, releasing her bound hands and feet, the woman remained undisturbed. Neither did her still, softened gaze wither at the sound of the chamber's door sliding open. She offered her a single, solemn nod as she took the case within her two hands before rising from her chair. The woman turned for the exit, seeing her escort standing in wait just beyond it. Drawn to a halt by the thread of a passing thought, the woman stopped short of the doorway before turning back to the Sith girl, who remained lingering beside the table._ _

__"Tell me—what is your name again, child?" There'd been a complete absence of any derisive edge behind her tone as she addressed her like so once again, this time spoken in the wisp of a subdued, respectful hum._ _

__"Lana Beniko," she answered in the faintest voice._ _

__" _Lana_ ," the woman repeated aloud, nodding her acknowledgement as though committing it to memory. Her piercing blue eyes caught the girl's once more before imparting the remainder of her heart's words to her. _ _

__"War—if you have not already learned—is a cruel convention, my dear girl. I would not be so misguided...as so commonly thought of us Jedi...as to claim it had been an invention by _your_ kind." Her gaze remained direct as she spoke. "But there are _many_ who do nothing but perpetuate its cycle. Of _all_ denominations."_ _

__The woman paused and dropped her gaze in contemplation._ _

__"I can see that you are not one of them. You are a _rare_ sort, Lana Beniko. It would be my _hope_...that you will continue as you are." The woman's eyes coincided with the girl's own as their gazes wandered back towards one another's. "Honor your master, and serve the galaxy by the will of your _heart_. Not that of others."_ _

__As she watched the woman glide away, the threads of similar, ruminating vestiges impelling her voice forth drew her to sound—a beckoning call urging the woman not to take leave just yet._ _

__"And..."_ _

__She paused at the girl's slightest utter._ _

__"...What shall I call _you_ , Master Jedi? I'm afraid I do not know your name."_ _

__Upon her reanimated spirit, the venerating grace the Sith girl had beheld of the woman with such reverence returned in its waxing tides, gentle in its overflow to permeate and hold within its embrace even the most obscured fragments of her being. She turned to the girl, regarding her with a merest gleam upon her features._ _

__"Gaudete."_ _

__"That's an... _uncommon_ name," Lana mused with a glimmer of her own demure smile._ _

__The novelty of the girl's response roused the woman's droll humor._ _

__"Like many Jedi, I'd been found without parents as a child," she began to share fondly. "In the wreckage and ruin of the planet I'd come from, the weeping agony in the wake of a terrible calamity—they'd heard a sound. The only reason they'd been led to find me at all. The closer they approached it, the clearer it'd become to their ears. It'd been the sound of _laughter_. An infant's laughter. I had no name. So the Jedi gave me one." _ _

__The woman's smile brimmed with her amusement as she continued._ _

__"Do you know what ' _gaudete_ ' means?"_ _

__Lana shook her head._ _

__" _Rejoice_ ," she whispered to her. "All calamities come to an end, dear. And once they do...one must never forget to _rejoice_."_ _

__

____

 

* * *

 

She'd never known what had become of that Jedi Master. Whether she'd long been lost to the perpetual violence, or if she remained, still somewhere in the galaxy, teaching and spreading her words and insights among another generation of the Order's pupils.

After dabbing dry all the trickling water from her face, Lana drew a meditative breath as she set her white towel down. It remained clutched in one hand as she rested both on either side of the sink before her. She'd fortuitously found herself in the rare occasion of total solitude in the women's public refresher within the transit station, with all of the busy world's bustling movements and sounds drowned out within the cloister of its silence. It'd been a simple relief to be alone. To have _silence_.

_Always quiet, aren't you?_ All _of you._

No, the ghosts never did speak. Only ever in her raving imaginings did their voices seem to beckon her. But she knew better. Ever since _then_ , she had known better.

Lana turned her gaze up from the translucent reflections of the sink's dull luster below to look upon the far clearer image to be found in the mirror directly in front of her. Where the locks of hair framing her face had hung, few stray strands clung to her fair skin where they'd still been wet. She brushed her small fingers over them, tracing over the silhouette of her features to scrape away the strands as she tucked them behind her ears.

Lana Beniko was never one who whiled away the time before her own reflection as many young women did. But in the rare occasions she'd found herself locked in the intent gaze of the mirror's image, there had ever only been particular things her eyes saw.

She remembered a time when she'd gazed into her image just as she did now. So youthful she'd been _then_. So _lovely_.

_'Lana Beniko is a beautiful woman.'_

That was a common statement to hear of her among others. For a long part of her life, it'd been the _first_ thing just about most of anyone would say of her when asked.

_'What do you know of Lana Beniko?'_

_'She is a beautiful woman.'_

It may as well have been an utter dismissal to her ears. A common statement. A plain one. It'd spoken nothing of _who_ Lana Beniko was. Those who freely said this of her truly knew _nothing_ of her. 

She imagined herself, more than a decade younger, standing before the image of her own likeness. Even the lovely girl then did not see beauty reflected in the mirror.

Lana's lips stirred as her eyes traced the visage gazing back through the transparent veil. The fragile contours they'd glimpsed along her skin betrayed the telling signs of her weariness. She'd always been fair in complexion, but her pallor now almost appeared unnaturally so against what her memory recalled of the girl's face. And against such a pale hue, the faintly darkening color beneath her eyes only more so added to the ashen shade of her countenance.

Beautiful.

_In what regard?_

She would laugh if it'd been a joke, but she'd known at the core that it was not. It _never_ was. There was nothing beautiful in the things she did. There was nothing beautiful about the life she lived. 'Beautiful' was not something she _tried_ to be.

Lana's fingers found themselves drawn to the tangles of her hair. She brushed them over and through the tresses, still thick with dampness to the touch, and ran them down the lengths of her locks to their fringed ends. They'd just reached her shoulders when they hung like so, pulled taut by the traces of water held between the strands. She remembered when the girl those many years ago had hair that cascaded in flowing waves as far down as her waist. She swore, too, that it'd been even brighter and more lustrous then as well. 

A glowing hum of a passing thought then gently drew her lips into the faintest of smiles.

_I see. Day by day, the lot of you all strive to make me look more and more like you? Is that it? Well I'm_ not _one of you. Not yet. Not even close._

How the mischievous ghosts loved to _tease_.

The early morning's hunger prompted Lana to take a brief respite at one of the many strings of cafes and eateries to be found within the spaceport.

"Just some soup, thank you. In a to-go cup, if you would, please."

Something light and warm to satiate her empty stomach. She had not been particularly hungry, and she seldom ever found herself in any mood for a full meal in the mornings.

"Right away." The young waitress scurried off to the small kitchen behind the counter.

She'd been able to pass much of her idle time already, though she was certain that her transport would be sure to arrive early as well, to catch her upon arrival. Minding the time, she pulled back the cuff of her sleeve and peered at the face of her watch. Her glowing smile that followed revealed all the wondrous mischief to be found in her child's heart. If only there'd been a witness present to glimpse it.

_Oh, he_ hates _to wait. But...I think I'll keep him waiting._

"Excuse me," Lana called to the waitress again as she passed by her table. "I apologize. If you would, please make that soup for here instead."

"Of course, Miss."

"Thank you." The light of another small thought impelled her to call to the waitress once more as she proceeded along. 

"Oh. And...I'm sorry—two coffees, please. Would it be possible to have them be made afterwards? When the bill is paid?"

"Not a problem at all. Will those be for here, also?"

Lana smiled and politely shook her head. "To-go, please."

The young woman nodded as she revised the order on her pad before hurrying off to the next patrons.

While she waited, Lana let her listless gaze wander about the length of the transit terminal. Even at this waking hour, on this comparably quaint planet tucked away in one of the quieter corners of the galaxy, the bustling world within the walls of the spaceport seemed like an entirely other realm than what lied beyond it. People paced about without a mind to dawdle or waste a single moment's time idling around anywhere. There'd been transfers and departures to make, cargo to move, weary travelers to tend to. From her stationary spot at the center of it all, everyone else that moved within the confines of the same space seemed only concerned with getting to their subsequent destination. No one waited. Nothing slowed. 'A to B' was the only purpose propelling any movement to be found here.

Lana crossed one leg over the other as she reclined into her chair, propping her elbow against its armrest. Her fingers gently pressed against her lips as she eased into the support of her hand.

Everything was grey, even beneath the ample fluorescent lights within the station's construct. Her eyes found themselves inevitably drawn to the only glimpse of true radiance to be found in the scope of her sight. And even _this_ light had been among the dreariest her eyes had seen.

Against the colorless world within the station, the gentle hum of the dawn's veil had shone through the far windows across the terminal's concourse from where Lana sat. There hadn't yet been any of the morning's brilliance to be seen in the distant horizon planetside. Further obscuring the colors had been the sight of the somber beads of raindrops pattering down in tendrils and ribbons along the glass.

Lana hadn't even noticed when it'd begun to rain. It hadn't been much, coming in only sparse trickles, it appeared. But her ears had never failed to catch its unassailable rhythm and cadence when it ever did come.

Many believed the rain on Dromund Kaas was perpetual. That it'd been shrouded in constant overcast and lightning and showers. No. There had been days of clarity as well. They were uncommon, but they came. And they were always quite welcome by the inhabitants who dwelled in the planet's lone city. Lana remembered each and every one of those days since she'd been a girl. 

She peered out the window, enthralled by the very whim of interpreting the shades and the sounds of that world outside—all the things its horizon and its skies meant to tell. She looked through the glass and past the veil itself to glimpse it. 

And it would ever be amidst moments like these when the ghosts came to cast upon the plane of her conscience the visions of their awakened memory. There, Lana was once again the youthful Sith girl—homebound, yet as adrift as she'd ever been since her departure from Hoth. It'd rained, too, in the days when that young girl had returned to Dromund Kaas, just as it did now.

 

* * *

 

At least it hadn't been _snow_.

Lana had had enough of the winter's ice and wind. The gentle mists of rain beneath the skies of Dromund Kaas were a warming reprieve by comparison. Although, it would seem, the inescapable chill of the winter world's touch would prove long to leave her being. And _here_ , in a place at the very cusp of the veil between the universe in motion and its stagnant, inanimate ghosts, the Sith girl felt its grasp cling to her still, across the expanse of an entire galaxy.

_Or perhaps it's the work of the phantoms themselves._

It was said that where the spirits tread, still tethered to the animate world, one felt their presence in the cold that followed.

_If that were so,_ all _cemeteries should be frozen over, knee-deep in snow._

Lana comically mused over whether that had been why Hoth was the ice-ridden world that it was.

Here, on the grounds of Kaas City's military memorial, Lana stood before a single grave marker—one within the sea of a thousand others identical in shape and form.

_We're home now, Master. And we succeeded._

Against the gridwork of lines and columns of the plain, alabaster markers, Lana stood the lone, living figure among the dead. She'd been clad entirely in austere black, so stark against her fair flesh that the girl herself would have appeared to be one of the disembodied spectres wandering these grounds.

She'd been glad for her solitude here. Aside from the dead, that was. She did not care to share in any manner of conversation, nor had she desired to listen to the sounds of wails and weeping from any mourners to remind her of her own heartbreak. There'd been no worry of any such intrusions among the _dead_. They never spoke back.

It'd now neared midday, and she'd spent a great number of hours walking the concourse of these grounds much earlier before finding her way to this marker. She'd have come to pay her final respects far sooner if it had not been so populously teeming with visitors then, all present to attend the memorial ceremony held in honor and remembrance of the fallen on Hoth. Among many of those visiting patrons had been the elites of Kaas City, paying their homage for the sake of their appearances and little much else. She'd been glad to see the majority of them go at the ceremony's end, leaving the memorial grounds to those who'd _belonged_ there.

Lowering her head in a respectful bow, Lana shut her eyes.

"May the Force keep you," she uttered aloud in reverence to the man and the almighty presence. In the silent, hanging moment that followed, she gently turned only when she could will her feet to go, taking leave of her master for what would be the final time.

"Ah—so you _are_ Lana Beniko."

The familiar voice called from some paces behind her. Drawn to a halt, she paused and peered over her shoulder to see a man lingering between other grave markers some rows away. Her quiet gaze woefully stilled on his countenance, also vexingly familiar, as she searched to discern his identity. There'd been a touch of confusion that marked her guarded disposition as she'd been taken by mild surprise to have missed him approaching entirely.

Lana had not known many pureblooded Sith men. Although she'd held some vague recollection of _this_ man's face and mannerism, she was certain she did not know him. His neatly groomed dark hair and fine clothing easily complemented his stately comportment, and although there had not been a lightsaber hilt to be seen anywhere on his person, she was _certain_ this man could not have himself been anything other than another fellow Sith Lord.

Seeing that the girl's stark expression remained quite unchanged as she gave little response to his beckoning, the man began to second guess himself for addressing her so forwardly. His generous smile slowly waned upon the very thought that perhaps he had mistaken her identity altogether.

Suddenly reminded of her manners, Lana gently nodded at last. "Yes, I am," she answered in a small voice. 

She did not mean to display her reluctance so candidly, but she feared it'd been made quite obvious from the moment she turned her glance at the man at all. Lana was then surprised to see the gleam of delight return to his face once she'd spoken, displaying his gracious enthusiasm in entirety as he walked over to properly greet the girl he'd sought to find.

"I am glad to have caught you, then. I had nearly missed you entirely," he laughed as he approached. Upon his curious observation, he gave a simple nod at a certain detail about her after taking the moment to freely note the Sith girl's features.

"Your...hair had always been worn much longer in all the records I've seen of you," he remarked blithely.

As part of her chosen funereal attire, Lana had been wearing a simple, sparsely decorated black cloche which covered much of her distinctive golden locks. Only some loosened strands hung from beneath the narrow rim of the hat, left to frame her face in wisps and fringes.

The man's remark stirred her hand to hover towards her hat, as though meaning to unconsciously reach for the length of her hair that would have otherwise been freely hanging down her back.

"I've...found it a bit easier to manage when out of the way."

Folding his hands behind him, his delight brightened upon his next musing thought. "I had looked forward to presenting Hoth's accomplished young heroine during the address today...only to see that you'd been quite noticeably _absent_ during the entire ceremony."

_Oh, yes. That's right._

That had been why this man looked so familiar. Lana had arrived as the other figures of note had congregated in preparation for the memorial ceremony, but she made no appearance before any of them. She'd remembered seeing this man. She'd watched and listened from afar as he gave his lengthy, artful address to the patrons and the families of Hoth's fallen who had come to listen. It'd been a grandiose affair, laden with all the pomp and pretension she'd expected out of such extravagance, and she'd not at all been interested in having any part of it.

And now, the face of the entire ceremony itself had searched and found hers. In light of the man's inquiry, no matter how harmless, Lana could not bring herself to even courteously lie. She lowered her eyes in search of an appropriate answer to explain this.

"Yes," she murmured. "My apologies. I..." Finding the breath caught in her throat, she paused to release it and clear her nerves. "I have been in no celebratory mood. Not since our return," she said to the Sith Lord with polite frankness.

Shifting his discerning gaze, he studied her countenance in the moment she'd taken to direct her eyes elsewhere.

"Perfectly understandable," he assured her benignly. "I imagine the conditions on Hoth were nothing short of punishing."

Suddenly minding his own manners, the man shook his head with a breath of a laugh. "I am sorry. I would not wish to keep you from any pressing matters—were you on your way?" he asked, only then considering that she'd possibly been engaged in her own private matters before his intrusion.

His rather circumspect courtesy brought the melancholy girl to a partial smile. "Not at all, my Lord," she graciously said to him as she shook her head, prompted by the similar impulse to present her utmost grace and cordiality.

"Ah, I'm glad. Would you mind, then, allowing me some moments of your time? I should like to learn more about our celebrated Sith Lady."

"Certainly, my Lord."

Lana had been pressed by the sense that she could not possibly decline, even if she'd felt the strong, compelling urge to voice any reason to excuse herself from the man's company. She then willed herself to smile, hoping it had not appeared too plainly insincere, proceeding along as they followed one another's unconscious lead back towards the paved concourse that wound throughout the memorial grounds.

"Your master's loss was a grave one," the man spoke first, following the wall of prolonged silence raised between them. "My condolences."

Even the civility and respect in his somber tone had not been enough to keep Lana's heart from sinking at his very mention of the dear old man. She'd recessed even further into her own remoteness then.

Whether he'd sensed his young companion's taciturn shift or not, the Sith Lord spoke further.

"But I must say—there is a certain contingency to be found...as with all tragedies. You have filled his post and proven yourself outstandingly capable of leading matters of both discipline and diplomacy."

His manner of speech had been earnest. Lana could not be sure if the man had meant to simply move beyond any lingering bereavement she'd been at liberty to hold, or if he'd meant to dismiss it altogether. What she _had_ been certain of was the lack of any lasting warmth to be felt from his apparent candor.

"I did nothing my master would not have done himself." Lana's voice came only in a quiet sound, but the truth of her words had been absolute.

Turning a curious gaze back to her, the Sith Lord had been intrigued by the clear reticence in her disposition. Her eyes remained downcast even as she followed in step with him. Despite her humble mannerisms, the girl still maintained her strides along at his side rather than falling half a pace behind, as had been habitual of nearly all others who were subordinate to an esteemed one like himself. 

The man inwardly admitted—this girl had been far more modest and quite outside of the expectations he'd imagined of her. Yet, there had been nothing about her that he'd remotely taken in any disappointment. No. Admittedly, she'd held notable qualities that were, indeed, largely _uncommon_ among the Sith. But also quite the contrary—young Lana Beniko had been just the curious, intriguing little puzzle to unravel.

"I'd heard of a particular incident," the man began again. His words came slowly this time. Patient and calculated. He smiled to himself with a tinge of some passing amusement. "That you'd faced some difficulty with instances of insubordination under your command on Hoth?"

The concourse had taken them over a short bridge across the small body of water within the park's artificial landscape. Lana's steady steps began to slow as she listened to his superficially harmless inquiry on the matter.

Drawn by his own curiosity, the Sith Lord's eyes steered back toward her when she grew quiet once again.

"...With one of the generals. Yes," she answered numbly.

It'd been his steps that halted their strolling pace entirely. Unfurling the silence that accompanied their sudden hesitation, the man's unexpected laughter seized Lana's immediate gaze. The robust manner of his droll cadences had been neither hostile nor condescending, but rather quite deeply awash in its vibrant amusement.

"You mean the one who's being fitted for a new cybernetic _hand_?"

Lana could only linger in her bleak silence as the sobering memory gripped her senses in the passing instant. The girl had not shared in this man's amusement in the least. As her attentions drifted, lead along the tangents leading away from the course of the present, the focus of her eyes meandered with the nebulous dispersal of her thoughts. Her gaze had floated aloft until coinciding with its own echoed image in the basin waters found beneath the small bridge upon which they'd stood. She'd seen the face below only clearly enough to discern that it was her own reflection, but the trickling mist of raindrops that continued to fall from above warped and disturbed the image too much for her to truly glimpse what the water meant to show.

Only weeks ago had Lana last stood before the mirror to closely gaze upon the face that stared back. She recalled what the girl had looked like then—the face of the person who'd been peering back through the transparent veil.

_That_ girl had been such a lovely thing. 

Such long, beautiful hair.

Such bright, golden eyes.

Oh, how she once used to _smile_.

Lana remembered that day. How she'd minded herself to prepare before meeting the Republic for what was to be the last summit of the war. This had been her final chance— _their_ final chance for an end to the lasting winter.

As always, she'd first gotten dressed. She'd always been particularly partial to shades of green even then. There'd always been something about the natural manner of its hue she'd been drawn to. It was a mild color—neutral and unassuming. And it was the dominant color of the jacket she'd then worn, perfectly tailored and fitted to her tall, slight physique. No unseemly wrinkle or crease ever escaped her acute inspection as she peered into the mirror to make the most of her presentation.

Next came the matter of the girl's plentiful tresses. While Lana had never been so discriminating about her own appearance as to meticulously tend to and maintain her hair in any excess, she'd always taken care to ensure it was cleanly pulled back and secured. She was not a _proud_ girl, but she'd always held a manner of propriety in maintaining herself respectably. She was a _Sith_ —a representative of her beloved Empire and its noble people, and so felt it imperative to appear her most impeccable and well-kept in the presence of outsiders.

She'd neatly brushed the locks straight, dividing them along a part on the right. She was prone to sweeping her long bangs across her brow, though they often came undone from the many clips and pins used to fasten it all. To better secure the shorter strands, she'd taken to twisting and rolling them into the longer tresses before setting them with a single little comb tucked between the locks.

Lana had done this many times. Every day. And every time, she'd spent a good portion of her mornings tending to this. Taking such care in preparing herself properly. The thought had brought her to a pause when she reached for her little comb. She stopped and peered into the mirror, looking at herself as she was—her fingers entwined in the twists of hair that she'd scrupulously redone again and again until it'd been immaculate.

Because that was what the people who glimpsed her _cared_ about. How _immaculate_ she appeared. How _beautiful_ she looked.

Her master never cared. Neither did her Papa. So _why_ , then, had she found the compelling need to burden herself like so for the faceless ones who bothered with such trivialities?

The more the inane idea dwelled on the outskirts of her conscience, the more her fingers gently released themselves from her tresses until they'd come undone again, falling in fringes over her face until the strands began to obscure the image before her. Lana quietly set her comb back down and let her freed hand wander until its touch found the fine, golden locks hanging at her shoulders. Her eyes then drifted away from the disheveled girl in the mirror until they'd fallen on the sparse strands grasped between her fingers.

Then the passing thought occurred to her. It'd almost seemed absurd as she considered it, but the longer she entertained the idea, the more inclined she'd felt towards it. 

Her searching gaze then floated around across her quarters, leading her to the desk close by her bed. She opened one of the drawers and rifled through it, only to find nothing but clutter within. Quickly shutting it, she moved on to the next. Beneath the piled writing implements and stationery, she'd then spotted what she'd been looking for. Lana's hesitant fingers felt the chill of the simple steel as she slid the pair of scissors out from beneath the miscellany.

Her eyes left the pair of blades held in her hand to find the mirror hanging across the room once again. When they'd seen the face of the girl peering back, there'd been no more her idle thoughts dwelled on any further.

Once she'd finished her preparations, the Sith girl emerged at last from the great doors of the hall leading to the facility's largest conference chamber. She'd been the last of the arrivals before they'd convened to meet their Republic counterparts. While Lana had every reason to be burdened by feelings of such trepidation, she entered the hall with her sustained gaze held as firmly as she could carry it.

Her eyes first met with the familiar guard captain who stood at attention by the entrance. They'd exchanged brief glances as she passed through, prompting her to quickly divert her gaze from the man's curious regard. The solicitous stares of the rest soon followed, drawing the whole of the hall to fall silent from their murmurs as each of the present officers fell into their lines to properly receive the Sith Lord at the helm of command.

Lana tentatively awaited as they organized themselves back into order, flanking each side down the length of the hall. As she steered her silent gaze across each face within the rows, none dared to turn his own toward hers again after they'd glimpsed the striking change in the girl's appearance.

"It appears all of the Republic representatives have arrived. We are ready to begin when you are, Mistress," the guard captain advised politely to her ear as he joined her side in escort, just as he had her master since the day of their arrival.

Lana gave a wordless nod in acknowledgement of his report before proceeding down the hall. While she'd been conscientious about keeping herself composed in the face of the officers who'd been her rightful subordinates, the girl had been gripped by some difficulty trying to keep her eyes from lowering in her fluttering lapses of uncertain self-consciousness. Although no other pair of eyes dared to stray, Lana felt the stone walls of their calculated scrutiny converge on her. She'd known by instinct that their eyes had been in constant search for any flaw, any failings, any merest shortcoming to be glimpsed in the fabric of her meticulously colored veil.

The Sith girl bore her shroud, marching forth beneath the camouflage of pride and dignity, while willing herself to recall the likeness of her master's poise, the grace of the Jedi woman, Gaudete. Those like these masters did not allow their facade to speak for them. Their presence had been the image of their spirit alone; so, too, had Lana sought to exhaustion with all of her resolve to don her very own. 

She'd passed her observant gaze over each individual face of the generals who awaited past the lined officers. Having witnessed the stern scrutiny in their eyes throughout the duration of her assignment on Hoth, she'd now found much of it quite removed from their present comportment. A select few had even deigned to offer a respectful nod as she brushed past. Whether it'd been true deference they'd paid toward her, or if it'd simply been their circumspect discretion was difficult to surmise at face value. Lana quickly learned how unforthcoming those of rank among the military could prove to be, and she'd been prudent not mistake their sudden graces for anything entirely without pretense.

Though she was certain of what had drawn the initial curiosity gleaned from their gazes, all lingering a touch longer than they had ever cared to offer the Sith girl before. It'd been the peculiar little curiosity they'd all shared, yet it'd remained one that _none_ dared to voice—how and why she'd abruptly done away with the long, golden tresses that had been so characteristic of the girl.

Lana's shortened locks had been crudely cut, as indeed, her hands held certainly no experience in wielding anything other than her lightsaber. But the imperfections were easily hidden in the natural unruliness of her tresses. Without the weight of its length to hang the locks of her hair straight, the strands had come to gentle curls at their ends. And now, firmly in place of her once benign and passive temperament, Lana had adorned a new mask of her own crafting, formed by those same, small hands. She'd come before these men and women not as the fledgling Sith youth, but as the fully ordained lord and master.

"Ah, so Her Grace has cared to make her appearance, after all?"

The drone of this man's caustic humor drew Lana's gaze as she passed him by. It'd been one of the senior generals, and she remembered the boorish condescension of this man's tone well, even if she had no clear memory of the face to match it. She regarded the stocky man's coy little smile with a removed air of distaste, discernible only by the frigid demeanor she bore before these officers.

The general bowed his head in a sparse greeting. "You had us all a bit on edge...hiding away in your room for days on end without so much as a single word. But I'm glad to see you seem well, at least." 

His disposition had been outwardly rather jovial, though it'd been a near-transparent guise he'd thrown over his bald-faced insincerity. He'd given a quick, emphatic glance before continuing with his farce.

"Save for...your _hair_ , it seems. Did you lose it to that Jedi boy's lightsaber? _After_ he'd used it to run your old master through?" 

The man's incendiary mockery had only escalated with his deliberate remark. Lana felt a stiffening chill climbing her spine as she continued to listen to his blatant instigation, but she'd remained silent with her gaze gravely still.

Despite the unsurprising nature of the man's tactless provocations, they'd nonetheless begun to draw the wearied anxiousness of the other generals. Of them all, this man was among the most senior of their ranks, and he'd held quite ostensibly the loudest voice of their collective. He'd railed his vehement disagreements against the entire course of their decisions since the Sith Lord's arrival, now all the more infuriated to have been entirely foregone in favor of his girl apprentice.

It'd been he who had pushed for the Jedi prisoner's execution, and the girl had overturned his sentence by a single word. When he'd ordered for her interrogation, his primary intent had been to subject their captive to sanctioned brutality, as had been expected against an enemy like the Jedi, and the girl had taken it upon herself to do _nothing_ before releasing the woman back to the Republic. And once the general had been convinced by his expectations for all action on Hoth to carry on from where they'd been left off before the arrival of the Sith, the _damnable_ girl then arranged for a second summit to resume their talks for disarmament and eventual withdrawal. Her each and every action had been decided with complete autonomy, without so much as any consent or counsel with the generals who'd controlled the entirety of the Imperial forces on this world. 

He'd grown _livid_ trying to stomach the fact that a simple ordinance was the mere thing that had offered all within his domain at her disposal when, in his eyes, the girl had done _nothing_ to earn her place at the helm of his army. The man had even dared to think himself slighted by the very idea that the Empire had at all felt the need to send representatives to enforce the galaxy-wide treaty, when he'd been certain of his inevitable victory on Hoth. To simply halt the fighting by ceasefire had felt like an utter dismissal, a total abandonment of the decades of effort and resources he'd given to claim this world and cleanse it of the Republic's presence once and for all.

"I'm sorry," the man spoke with another calculated smile. "That was a bit callous wasn't it? I apologize. Humor is but one of the few ways to cope in this unforgiving world. And I admit—my brand of humor can be _indelicate_ at times."

The Sith girl appeared to consider his words as she set her eyes adrift without any particular focus. 

"My master was a man who had a blithe sense of humor," she plainly remarked. Lana then directed her stark gaze back to the man. " _Yours_ —I assure you, General—is _quite_ profane and entirely unsolicited."

Her firm response had come forth unexpectedly, and his inane grin shifted in its color.

"You seem like a bright girl," he spoke with a dry candor. "Tell me—what do you plan to do if all of this falls through?" The general's question had been a clear challenge to expose and subvert her seeming confidence.

"You speak as though you expect failure, General."

" _Cautiousness_ is quite different from a lack of faith, Missy."

Lana raised her glance, refusing to buckle beneath his inciting condescension. "And I have passed the threshold of caution long ago so that I may follow my faith."

Seeing the glimmer of fire and defiance in the girl's youthful eyes, the man sneered in a scoff of a laugh. "'Faith'? In _what_ , dare I ask, young Mistress?"

"In a shared promise, General." 

His patronizing laugh deepened in its insufferable drone.

"A 'promise.' From that Jedi woman you let free? Because no Jedi in the history of that damned Order of theirs had _ever_ lied to their enemy before," he chuckled in his searing sarcasm.

"There is no doubt in my heart that she was _true_ ," the Sith girl declared in total absence of uncertainty.

It mattered not to her that this man would never understand her intentions. Lana would not waste her breath trying to dissuade a man of his own ignorance, so she did not deign to speak more than that.

In the bliss of his own amusement, the general shook his head in his waning laughter. 

"Ah, yes...an _honest_ heart-to-heart, was it? Between a sweet young girl and an old crone?" he mockingly narrated the presumed course of events aloud. As he simmered himself, the man cleared his throat before turning his wayward gaze away from her with a spark of a passing thought in his eyes.

"You know. I'd never understood the Empire sending little girls like you to the battlefront." His comment came forth, thick in his manner of droll humor. "Where men like _us_ are meant to fight." He turned his scrutinizing eyes back to the girl. 

"I've got a young one just like you—safe at home, with the wife. Where she belongs. Where _all_ pretty little girls belong." The man's thorough chauvinism had been made more than clear in his emphatic tone.

Despite their weariness of his wasteful chatter, the other officers had decisively kept silent throughout this entire exchange, all knowing too well that the intervention of any third party would have only prolonged the tediously verbose man's tirade. Although, the lone female general had then made a clear point of displaying her ire at his bigotry as she rolled her eyes before directing them away, exasperated with having to endure it for yet another time.

"Instead of dashing through a field of blaster fire and sabers." The man chuckled again, the only one of them all to find anything remotely comical about the very idea. "Wouldn't want to risk any unsightly _scars_ , there. Ruin a pretty young girl's chances of finding a husband."

"Not all young girls are so fortunate to still have their mothers to care for them at home," Lana spoke simply. While her volume had diminished some, her blunt manner remained unmoved. She then pitched her gaze even higher. 

"And not all are given the luxury of choosing to _stay_ home. It is certainly no luxury permitted among us _Sith_ , General," the girl sternly returned, unfazed in the face of his derisive mockery.

Lana's deliberately chosen words had been her means of allowing the exchange to diffuse under her sober reminder—that her station remained a cut above all else present in that hall. Although her intent had been to avoid the brewing confrontation, her reluctance had been readily taken for faintness of heart, doing nothing to win any further respect among them. And rather than subduing the offending general, her words had only served to incense him even further. 

Her controlled composure had been infuriating when he'd found that none of his words could rouse her as he'd intended. For the mere girl to have conducted herself with such audacious _patience_ , the man now fumed as though it'd been an affront to his very presence. His rampant indignation then flared the moment he'd witnessed as the Sith girl subsequently turned away from him in what he'd taken to be a display of utter dismissal.

"Listen here, you conceited little _cunt_ —" the general hissed, revealing the extent of his true colors in open defiance. Clouded by a vision of red, he'd no longer burdened himself to withhold any manners of scorn and profanity toward the girl.

"I'd been stationed here when you'd barely begun to _walk_. This is _my_ army. _MY_ domain. And don't you think for a _moment_ that you can hide behind whatever Imperial directive claiming some right of yours to take command of this world. _Power_ speaks here, girl. Not a jumble of scant words on some anonymous document written by a craven who'd _never_ so much as set a single foot on this surface!

"Power is something the lot of you Sith understand, isn't it? The very thing your kind worships? I've seen plenty of others pass through this world. Ones who'd been your _better_ in every way, girl. And you know what's become of them? _Ghosts_. All of them. Why do you think they'd sent you and your master?"

The man paused amid his burning words with a contemptuous sneer.

"Take it from me—words and law don't mean a single thing out here. Only _might_. And those with the will to _use_ it are the survivors. Sith or not, the Empire wouldn't bat an eye at losing some simpering little girl like _you_ in this place."

The veiled threat underscored in his outburst did not go unnoticed among those who'd listened to the man's mutinous words. Stirred by their shared measure of anxiousness, the other generals turned their alerted gazes. Yet still, none among them had been moved enough to intercede on either's behalf. This had now become a match of wills, and no single entity who'd understood the Imperial ways would dare impose upon such an engagement.

Lana remained perfectly poised in her stillness until the man had finished speaking. He was wrong. That had been the magnificent simplicity in this matter. He'd been so heinously wrong and so unfathomably _arrogant_ in his own immeasurable ignorance. The man knew _nothing_ of the nature of the Sith—what trials they'd surpassed to be forged into such beings. 

_Sith_ was never simply some title, some label given freely to a certain, privileged kind. Lana had earned her right to be among their ranks. He'd spoken so brazenly of power and survival, yet he'd truly understood so little of it. Of the Sith, those who were _not_ worthy were the ones who couldn't survive. And it had not been _power_ that had given Lana the will to sustain and overcome. Power had been but one facet of their existence. How sorely misguided this shallow man had been, believing the Sith to be so simple as to commit their existence to such a singular axiom alone. Power was only a conduit, one of many possible paths toward what the Force revealed and bestowed upon those touched by its grace.

Lana nearly pitied this man, an unenlightened illiterate who would never possess the ability to _comprehend_. For this, she'd found it in her heart to remain ever-patient in her amnesty, forgiving the man his ignorance for something he was divinely incapable of ever grasping.

"Are you quite finished, General?" her small voice asked the man as she slowly turned her gaze over her shoulder toward him. "Because I have always found it discourteous to interrupt others while they are addressing you—a simple thing I'd been taught ever since I could _walk_." 

Seeing the man's face frozen in his silent disbelief, Lana peeled her attention away once again to proceed on, already stalled for long enough.

"If there are no constructive words you mean to contribute—"

"—How _dare_ you. Don't you turn your back to _me_." The general gave his livid demand in a low, seething hiss. His outstretched forefinger sank with every receding step the Sith girl took away from him. 

"Are you listening?!" he raged even louder, only to see that she hadn't even been taken by any remote pause this time. Gritting his teeth, the man continued to fume at her complete indifference. "You _uppity_ little bitch..." he uttered under his breath as his blustering impulses urged his hand toward the blaster holstered at his belt.

The man's reckless tantrum had now finally drawn the other generals to respond, all stricken by his explosive loss of self-control. While none would have cared to blink in the times he'd reacted in such a way toward any subordinates, they'd recognized the immediate peril of his volatile temper against a Sith—one who'd been their _commander_ , no less. 

As though stirred to motion by arcane clairvoyance, Lana had then deftly acted in demonstration against the man's rebellion before any other could make a single move. It'd been as though all the air within the expanse of the hall itself froze as the pressure of the Force's presence descended upon that space, summoned by the swift gesture of the Sith girl's hand as she held it raised. Her hand closed to a fist at her left, willing the might of the Force to halt the belligerent general within the confines of its unremitting restraint.

The man had but a mere blink of an eye—a fleeting _instant_ while his expression contorted in his momentary shock upon the sudden onset of paralysis suspending the entirety of his body's movement. He could have sworn the beat of his own _heart_ had been held at a stall, though it'd been impossible for his trailing mind to fathom whether it'd been by the weight of the Force's convergence unto him, or that of his own consuming _fear_. He'd been allowed no further moment to process another thought before the Sith girl had delivered her swift retaliation.

In that fleeting instant, the whole of the room bore witness to the unflinching discipline of the Sith doled upon the opulence of the lone fool's hubris. A single motion was all it'd amounted to. For her to call the hilt of her lightsaber to her hand. The grace of her following motion as she whirled about face. And finally, the beam's screeching ignition, carving a wide arc in the path of her swift, outward swing.

Lana's strike had come down on the man in a flash. It'd been no display of sophistication of form or technique, only a small and simple motion of brutal efficiency to disarm the aggressor. All present eyes watched as the man's severed hand fell to the floor, rendered useless as the weapon it'd just clutched seconds prior that now came clattering down beside it.

Stricken speechless by his shock, the general could only stare wide-eyed at his maimed limb. The swipe had sundered it so cleanly, his senses had been delayed from registering the searing pain. Even as it'd finally come upon him, the bloody cry had frozen in his seemingly crippled lungs, unable to escape while his body began to convulse and tremble in its unconscious response to the sudden assault to its being. His eyes continued to peer in a glaze of disbelief as he retracted his shaking arm, crumpling to the ground as he clutched onto the throbbing wrist with his remaining good hand.

The humming glow of her lightsaber's blood-orange beam washed all of his addled sight in its haunting hue as the Sith girl closed the distance left between them by the few mere paces. The disgraced man recoiled from the shadow of her gaze, bearing the swell of her tempered disdain as she cast it down upon him. In the lull of the seconds' silence, she impassively deactivated the beam held lowered behind her.

"...It is _especially_ discourteous to interrupt another who is your _superior_ , General," Lana uttered in a most forbidding hush. "Do not forget—in the absence of my master, _I_ am your commander." Her voice hardened in its deliberate austerity, devoid of any pity to be had for the undeserving man. The volume that carried her words lifted just enough to reach the ears of the other generals while the chill of her gaze lingered over the cowering fool before her, now heaving in horrific gasps and breaths from the residual aftermath of his trauma.

"Take him to the infirmary," the Sith girl ordered in muted disregard.

Her silent escort had remained faithfully close by as he watched the whole of the affair unfold before him. Turning his unmoved gaze from the offender, he'd then shifted them to two minor officers lined close by. With a dull nod toward the disgraced general, he cued the pair to move in accordance to the Sith's command. Watching as the men marched forward, he thinned his lips in distaste at the entire, well-deserved entanglement the pompous man had gotten himself into.

"Once he's been treated, detain him," Lana instructed the men as they hauled the offender to his feet. Her voice had now come laced with a taste of mild tedium. She'd been quite ready to relieve herself of this troublesome ordeal, as it'd momentarily taken her attention away from the far more pressing matter still left to attend to.

She returned the lightsaber hilt to its holder suspended on her belt as she turned from them, a gesture made without the slightest vestige of any sympathy to be had.

"He will be dealt with later." 

Such had been her final words on the matter before the two officers made haste to drag the man out of the girl's sight. 

Only then had the terror finally overtaken the general, slowly occupying every fiber of his shaken being as it forced the wailing cries from his lungs at last. His resistant struggling and thrashing that followed had been an instinctual and entirely ineffective response that only exasperated his panic. And though his howling outcries only gained, they'd soon enough begun fading off into a humming drone the farther the officers had taken him. Then, at last, came the liberating silence.

Lana turned her paces onward toward the end of the hall, eager to remove herself from the disquieted air among the witnesses. Without regarding a single one of the other generals, the Sith girl brushed past them in muted haste, her patience exhausted too far to dwell on what further disparagement their gazes may have now held. As such, she'd been made oblivious to the grave shift within their collective demeanor, each straightening in full attention, allowing their gazes to briefly glimpse at their commander only after she'd passed them by.

"My Lady." Following in step a pace behind her, the captain escorting Lana hovered closer to whisper a word to her ear. "He'd drawn his weapon in blatant hostility against you. Why did you spare him?" he questioned her, tactfully keeping out of any other's earshot. 

The man had been genuinely bewildered as to how she could have allowed him to keep his life after such a brazen act of insubordination. Even the minor officers would not have spared their own underlings who'd displayed such audacity.

"There is no lesson for a man to glean from any experience if he is _dead_ , Captain," she plainly answered.

"What lesson is there to be taken from this? His act had been plain mutiny, Mistress. You know as well as I do that the only answer to treason is _death_." 

He had not meant this to question her, but his simple curiosity proved to be uncontainable. It'd been even more difficult to contend with, knowing the general in question had been a most insufferable man.

As she considered the answer forming in her displaced thoughts, she'd unconsciously slowed her steps.

"He may be a vulgar, brutish warmonger, but he has his uses," she coldly responded, though in truth, she'd found no taste for taking the man's life, no matter how contemptible and trying he'd been.

Considering his following silence, the captain appeared satisfied by her plain answer. However, there'd been a lingering sense of discontent Lana had found in her own words that would not quell. Once it'd no longer been tolerable on the fringes of her conscience, she finally voiced the question of her deeply rooted misgivings on a seeming whim.

"Do you suppose...he shall learn to _humble_ himself? At future times, when tact and prudence may best serve him?"

Her escort paused, not for the offhanded nature of the girl's inquiry, but by the rather reticent innocence in the tone that had compelled it forth.

"I do not think so, my Lady," he told her at last, retuning her sincerity with a show of his own.

Such men like the boorish general were not apt to change. Though with near certainty, he would grow to bear an insurmountable vendetta for being made to suffer such a humiliating assault. However, the captain had been confident the undisciplined umbrage of a man of such mediocrity would not come to anything against even the humblest among the Sith ranks.

The captain watched as the Sith girl's eyes cast their sights lower, almost imperceptible from the obscured view he'd had of her countenance following the trail of her steps.

"That is a shame to hear," her dwindled voice uttered in the stillness between them.

While the man could not be entirely certain, he'd been convinced of this girl's remarkably unwitting sincerity. Turning his curious gaze, he'd found his eyes lingering on her for a moment as he'd considered the puzzle that had been this young Sith girl. Shaking his head, he'd first smiled to himself before releasing the uncontainable, airy wisp of laughter. So far from their expectations this girl had been, he'd found it nearly humorous to even think about.

"Mistress Beniko, you are..." The captain required a moment of reflection, realizing there'd been no words in his fleeting vocabulary to continue the train of his thought. "...Quite... _unexpected_."

With an offhanded, inward little smile, he'd been unsure if that had been the proper word at all for what he'd meant to say. He'd come to recognize, too, that there had been no single, adequate word that could appropriately sum this girl up—of _all_ the possibilities at his disposal.

Failing to ascertain his amusement, Lana hesitated before speaking. "That is a particularly _kind_ choice of word. To say what you truly intend to say, Captain."

The lightness waned upon his dawning sobriety once he drew his eyes back toward the somber girl. The passing lament began to level his temperament, seeing how she'd misconstrued his meaning. He'd realized that she must have grown to expect such underhanded discourtesies among the unfamiliar faces of this unfamiliar world that surrounded her. 

In this place, the girl had very much been held as the secluded outsider, a total variant among its cruel, unchanging workings. Those like the outspoken general had not welcomed the imposition upon their immaculate machinations. Yet truly, those like _himself_ —those of the massive body of this world's innumerable populace—had _all_ long awaited for the salvation to be wrought by such a herald. It'd seemed that only a _true_ deviant cast among the constants would be capable of bringing forth a revolution against the stagnance. But how _unexpected_ it had been that this deviant would ultimately come in the form of this modest, unassuming youth of a girl. The captain knew little of the Force and its nature and workings, but he'd come to appreciate the occasional, comical irony of the almighty entity's designs over the course of his lifetime.

Continuing his steps in the shadow of his commander, he stopped only when she had once they'd reached the doors at the hall's end. He watched as the Sith girl's breaths seemed to deepen, as the focus of her eyes appeared to drift away, as her resolve almost visibly slipped from her very being while she lingered before the doors, silent and unstirring.

"...Your lightsaber, Mistress," he uttered gently to her.

His voice drew her curious gaze as she turned to regard him for the first time since their eyes had met upon her arrival.

"Am I so intimidating, Captain?" she inquired him in a small voice, almost all too innocent in its modesty to be taken quite honestly.

It'd only become apparent that the girl appeared to misinterpret his words once again when he'd seen more obviously now, just how shaken and nervous she'd truly been.

"I meant...your _hand_ , Mistress," he clarified, pointing out what he'd meant with a simple glance. "You haven't taken it from your saber hilt the entire time." 

The captain leaned toward her ear, donning a rather droll expression. "Our guests may not be so... _receptive_ to see their Sith hostess make her entrance already prepared for a skirmish..."

Suddenly conscious of this, Lana immediately peered down to her right as she impulsively released her hand from the hilt hanging in its holder at her belt. Opening her fingers and palm, she realized just how tightly she'd been clutching it at her side. In her abrupt bout of self-consciousness, she willed her hands to relax at rest, only to realize also that they'd been trembling the entire time as well. The more she diverted her attentions toward her own bearings again, the more she'd grasped just how clearly her unease had subconsciously manifested. Surely, even her escort had taken notice, she realized in her passing anxiety.

But she'd been able to trust _this_ man's discretion. None of his words spoken thus far had carried any air of mordant ridicule or disparaging contempt. _And_ he'd been cordial with her master before, her memory reminded.

Lana reached forward, letting her hand hover over the terminal of the doors' main console. Before she could bring it to access them in order to proceed on through, she'd taken another moment for herself to settle her nerves as she drank in the abounding silence all around her. The only discernible sound left then had been the rampant pulse of her racing heart that had, too, never quite quelled.

_It still hasn't, it seems. Not really._

"Forgive me my morbid curiosities." 

The Sith Lord's stifled laugh brought Lana's migrant presence back from the realms of her recollection. She turned back toward him to see the assuring smile still unfazed along his blithe countenance.

Her companion folded his hands behind him as he paced over to join her at the edge of the bridge, overlooking the waters below. 

"It goes without saying—you _must_ be rightfully congratulated, Miss Beniko. Truly," he spoke as he fondly shook his head. "And as for the unfortunate general—well, I mustn't call him _general_ anymore. He's been demoted for his disgraceful misconduct, after all." The Sith Lord's aside came dismissively, as though it were some laughable joke. 

"What a store of patience you must have. To have spared the witless imbecile his miserable life at all. Where you've graciously shortened him by a mere hand, others would surely have opted for an entire _head_."

Lana humored him with a polite little laugh, but it'd been quite clearly half-hearted in its sound.

"Only if necessary, my Lord," she commented with a casual wit, "I...would rather not waste my energies."

"Of course. I suppose you do have a point," he chuckled. "A dead general on your hands—I would not envy the paperwork and..." His pause came with a distasteful intake of a breath, "And the bureaucratic _tedium_ that would entail reporting such an incident."

She flashed him another faint, cordial smile out of her mindful courtesy.

"If...I may inquire..." As the man pondered over the thought he'd meant to present to the girl, he pressed his lips thin as he directed his eyes over the reflective water below. "What do you foresee for yourself now, following your _glorious_ , triumphant return to Kaas City?" he inquired the girl with an illustrated, lighthearted flair beneath his words.

The Sith Lord's question caught Lana off guard. It hadn't been an unusual or unexpected thing to be asked, but she hadn't considered things so far ahead just yet. She hadn't even had a moment's time to so much as entertain the very thought.

"I've...only just returned, my Lord," she murmured unsurely, pondering upon a tactful means of evading the question altogether. "I... I mean to celebrate the armistice for the time being."

"Ah, yes—yes, of course. How could I forget?" The man laughed upon realizing that it indeed had been an occasion to celebrate, catching himself absent-mindedly neglecting this in light of his eager curiosities about the girl. Even so, he'd been swift to steer the conversation back to the question at hand.

"You've earned your well-deserved leave, my girl. And how shall you be spending it?"

In her tentative pause, Lana briefly turned her eyes to the man's own expectant ones. She pondered over the possible courses since she'd been coerced into considering the matter anyway.

"I haven't been home for some time," she quietly uttered at last. "I suppose I am overdue for a visit."

" _Home_ ," he nodded in acknowledgement. "A pleasant sentiment."

There'd been something about the ease of his remark— _something_ that compelled her to believe this had been little more than a cursory response made with the plain purpose of humoring her. Though then again, she realized she'd been doing quite the same to him for much of this conversation. In spite of this man's outward politeness, there'd remained something particularly marked about his manners that hadn't felt entirely genuine to her.

"And... _after_ your leave, then?" the Sith Lord pressed again. "What is in store for young Miss Beniko?"

Lana had felt ill-prepared to offer any forthright answer to satisfy the man's persistent curiosity. Unsure of what to say, she finally settled on speaking earnestly.

"To be perfectly honest, my Lord, I... I'm afraid I do not know." Despite her diminishing voice, her answer had come openly. "I am still rather accustomed to the notion that my _master_ would be the one to decide such matters."

The Sith Lord's discerning red eyes had not left her as he awaited her response, reading and gauging the young girl's every word and manner.

"Understandable," he commented simply. He then turned his gaze back over the water, idly letting his vision glaze over the gentle ripples left by the sporadic droplets of the sparse rain. 

"If I were to tell you that there may be a place for you within the Imperial Citadel, would you consider a station there?" he asked her after a brief moment's pondering.

Lana's attention lifted in the swell of her astonishment in hearing such a suggestion.

"The _Citadel_...?" she breathed.

"I cannot make guarantees. However, I have come to note a sore lack of personnel with your...respective talents," he explained in a sparkling candor. "I can assure you, at the very least, that none of the Ministries would be so short-sighted as to overlook a candidate such as yourself. I myself can see that there is more _sense_ in that mind of yours than any of the rampant conceit or ego so commonly found among our Sith youth." Once his contemplative gaze lifted to meet hers, he smiled. "An undervalued quality, at times."

It'd been disconcerting to be placed in such a position so abruptly. Lana's eyes froze for what seemed like far too long before they blinked and broke the tether between their glances. There had been much to consider, and among her most perfunctory thoughts, she'd found herself most hesitant before this man upon the incessant intuition that would not leave the recesses of her mind—of how so far removed he'd _felt_ to be from the likeness of her late master. She could not dismiss the calculated pretense that marked this man's presence. Although he'd yet to show a trace of disdain in his air of presumed vanity, even she could sense that he'd still been quite a distance away from humility.

"Um. My Lord, I—please excuse my...my indisposition," Lana slowly began in a gentle and most considerate manner. "As I am certain there will require a period of time for me to reestablish my bearings here in Kaas City..."

Her halting uncertainty had broken her words in a pause as she required a moment to find the most prudent means of conveying her intentions.

"...I am afraid any decision I am able to make at this time shall be somewhat ill-considered on my part. Too much so for me to yet subscribe to any commitments."

The Sith Lord patiently turned his glance. "A _reserved_ answer. Are you certain?" He'd revealed a curious smile, quite surprised to see a total absence of the ambitious zeal he'd expected of any newly fully-ordained Sith Lord. "Few are ever _handed_ such prospective opportunities."

"My master always held to _earning_ one's place in the order of the universe." 

Lana's demeanor visibly shifted as she gained in self-assurance upon recalling such purviews, straightening before the man with a respectful regard. 

Easing off from his pressures a bit, he relented in a silent nod. "I shall not dispute a good man's wisdom. Even after his death."

At last, the Sith Lord released a sound breath, drawing closer to the girl. He reached his hand out and laid it firmly on her shoulder.

"Lana, my dear—I foresee a _fine_ future ahead of you. If I...may impart a word of my own wisdom," he generously offered. "Be prudent to seize your fortunes as they come, so as to not allow them to slip between your fingers before you've even grasped them."

She watched as a most gratuitous smile illuminated the man's features. 

"You'll find such diligence shall take your successes far in the world."

As he'd come to realize the time, the man drew his hand away and cleared his throat. 

"Well now, I am afraid there are other engagements I must tend to. But I am quite pleased to have been able to exchange _some_ insights with you, even if only for a brief occasion."

Offering a small nod, Lana beamed another of her demure smiles. 

"Thank you, Lord—um," she paused upon the address, only then realizing that she had not been present to hear the Sith Lord's introduction during his oration.

"Arkous." The man returned with his own delighted smile and a gracious bow of the head.

"A great pleasure to have met you, Lord Arkous."

In a bout of fond laughter, he reciprocated the girl's courtly courtesies. "The pleasure is all mine, _Lady_ Beniko."

Her smile began to grow somber as she gently shook her head. "'Lady Beniko' was my mother. I am simply 'Lana,' my Lord." 

Noting her express wishes, he then graciously nodded his acknowledgments. "I hope there shall come an opportunity for us to meet again in the future. Do take care."

Upon his simple departing words, Lana silently watched as the Sith Lord took his leave of her, continuing along the bridge's path back to the main concourse.

 

* * *

 

The _years_ Lana had spent in the shadow of that man. Lord Arkous. _Darth_ Arkous. She'd have deemed them an utter waste if there hadn't been a lesson to glean from her mistakes then. He had been the ghost that Lana had strived _never_ to become.

If it had not been for the other phantoms already haunting her, this one may well have led her astray while he'd still been alive to heed. He'd woven his machinations and his intrigue, stitching their threads through the ones of her own mind. He'd plucked and pulled them as a master would his marionette. As duplicitous as the Sith Lord's skillful artifice had been, his undoing had been his failure to draw the strings of the girl's _heart_. Lana's saving grace had lied in the strength of _those_ cords, so firmly held and entwined within her own fingers and safeguarded by the unbreakable ties they'd still held to those of her memory's ghosts.

And now he'd become another among them. There had indeed been bonds crafted between her lines and those of his own. And like the others, he, too, continued to linger and watch her from the other side of the veil. But of all the lessons to be held from that man, it had been his words imparted upon her that very day that ever remained in her heart.

_'Seize your fortunes as they come.'_

Arkous had intended a very certain meaning behind those words when he'd spoken them. But words, by nature, had been free to interpret as one pleased.

As advised, Lana _had_ counted her fortunes. She'd given them all value, always taking care to leave a part of her own being in each and every one of them as she collected the pieces. In exchange, they'd remained a part of _her_ for as long as her heart required them. Never had she allowed a single one of her fortunes to slip from her fingers even _once_.

Her _latest_ piece taken into herself, she'd come to hold dearest of them all. And the very idea of losing it, she feared, would unravel the entire fabric of her being to tatters.

Like a mantra, Lana recalled the words to her heart once again.

_Seize your fortunes as they come._

No. It'd been Fortune who'd caught Lana that time, taking her by the hand at the crossroads to lead her down the illuminated path. She had not dared to release her hand from his grasp since.

Rounding the upcoming corner back to the gate where she'd arrived from, Lana spotted him. Like clockwork. Of course she would find him waiting.

_Fortune comes in many faces._

How eloquently _poignant_ her flourishing smile had been when she'd felt him jump in surprise—her mirth nearly uncontainable when her arms encircled around him from behind.

A _new_ greeting. The first of its kind.

In her play, she'd been mindful of keeping her steps silent as she came to him, although it'd hardly taken any effort amidst the strumming constant of the bustle to be found throughout the corridors of the spaceport. The start she'd given him quickly passed, and she soon felt him ease within her embrace. Her gentle touch carried with it an innate sense—a near-perfect, precisely attuned synchrony that stirred her to find the equilibrium in the temporal moment once their beings met. As she nestled with a most natural, befitting ease against the warmth of his back, she breathed a sound of delicate, delighted laughter.

"You're late," Theron's wry voice droned. Although he hadn't stirred in the least, the subdued amusement remained distinctly unambiguous in his tone. "You're usually pretty good about this kind of stuff."

"I'm not late. I was early," she countered in plain candidness. Tilting her head against his shoulder, she lifted her voice to whisper to his ear. "So I thought I'd pick up a little something."

Still tightly bound by her embrace, Theron's eyes peered down toward her hands held hovering before him—each holding a small, lidded cup in its grasp. The mild sloshing of the beverages they'd contained drew his attention once she'd given them both a playful little shake.

"Compensation—for being gracious enough to offer to chauffeur for me," she teased with all her charm to bear in her single little grin.

Stubbornly holding to his sardonic whims, Theron dulled his expression in pretended distaste. " _Don't_ start calling me your chauffeur."

Lana could not resist her lips tightening at the tickling threat of laughter. 

"Pick one," she urged, murmuring in such a tease as if to dare him.

Never once casting away the dubious overtones from his droll countenance, he eyed both cups before reaching to take the one in her right hand.

"But not that one," she quickly urged in jest. She then prompted him to take the other instead, giving the cup on the left a little jog.

"There a difference I should be aware of?" he murmured dubiously while he did as she'd insisted.

Once he eased out of her arms and turned around, he looked to see Lana's returning gaze, graced by the accompanying presence of a dearest gleam of a smile. 

"You always take yours black. I'm assuming that hasn't changed since Rishi?"

"Oh, yeah..." The gentle air of his humor had then eased into the burgeoning swell of his grin upon hearing how she'd remembered this. "Then _that_ must be the absurdly sweet one," he teased, nodding at the other cup still held in her grasp.

"Exactly how I like it," she paused, taking a sip from it, " _Absurdly_ sweet."

There came yet another shift in his eyes as he'd drawn closer.

"A Sith with a sweet tooth," he hummed in amusement as his hand found its place at her waist. Drifting to close the distance between them, Theron let his lips sink toward hers to steal a kiss.

Lana had read the intent brimming in his eyes the moment he'd turned to meet her. Playing the ever-mischievous little flirt, she'd comically pressed her fingertips flat against his lips to halt them just before they touched hers. She'd then quickly been overcome by sweet laughter at her own capricious gesture. The abrupt surprise to be seen in his muddled expression that followed had simply been too priceless.

"You haven't even given me any proper greeting yet," she chastened him in a tease.

Her smile swelled upon feeling his lips curl into a recognizable little grin against her fingers.

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" The words of his retort had been muffled against her hand, winning yet another hum of laughter from her before she finally peeled her fingers away.

Lana's small hands traced over his face. She smiled to herself at the minor notion of how freshly silken it'd felt beneath her trailing fingers then—how he'd evidently taken the time to shave before leaving for the spaceport to pick her up. Theron _hardly_ ever cared to mind such things in all her memories of their shared days since Manaan, most especially on the particularly early mornings.

And how he'd taken care to consider his choice of dress for the day as well. She herself had worn only a plain and simple knit ensemble thrown together with no distinct mind or fancy. It'd been her preferred choice of clothing for long trips like these, when ease and comfort had been her primary concern for the duration to be spent on the starliner for the transgalactic journey.

Peering from the floor up, she'd seen that he'd worn what appeared to be a pair of comfortable shoes and pants, quite a bit more casual than his usual manner of style. He'd chosen a chemise to wear this time, tucked neatly at his waist, with a light, hooded jacket worn open over it. Lana's hands trailed down from his face to tend to the collar of his shirt where she'd settled her roaming gaze. The color of the garment had been a curiously coincidental grey that matched, almost to perfection, the shade of the loosely fitted cardigan she herself had worn. She smiled as she straightened out the creases of its collar with a caring touch.

"How have you been, Theron?" she tenderly asked him at last. The exuberance of her gentle affection coursing with the breeze of her voice and the delicate brush of her fingers.

The eager little grin he'd worn remained as he allowed her the freedom to tend to his apparel as she pleased. "Felt like crap having to get up so early this morning," he quipped in his usual humor. "You know, to pick a certain _someone_ up from the spaceport."

Flashing him a wry glance, she patted down the folds of his collar and rested her hands flat against his chest. "I'd think you'd have been accustomed to waking at these wee hours."

"A little harder to do without the mission-adrenaline to jumpstart the initial spring out of bed."

"Is _this_ not a mission?" she returned with a clever tease.

"No blasters or espionage? Not really."

Shifting her smile suggestively, Lana slid her hands over his shoulders as she leaned closer, letting her arms drape around his back.

"Not _exciting_ enough for your tastes, Agent Shan?" she whispered in a hush only inches away from his face.

Mirroring the intrigue of her look, his returning smile came with a shade of his own caprice. He stalled on a pause, purposely rousing her tantalized curiosity as she waited in expectation of whatever next jest he'd conjure to throw back at her. He'd noted the anticipation in her eyes as he parted his lips, only to finally respond by raising his drink to fill the space between their locked gazes as he inanely took his first refreshing sip of his coffee.

Shutting her eyes in a droll expression, Lana breathed an air of amused laughter before easing away from him.

"Yeah, you think you're the only one who knows how to _tease_ , Beniko?" he laughed between generous sips from his cup. Tucking his other hand into the pocket of his jacket, he stood at ease as he let his humor subside.

"How about you?"

Lana lowered her eyes as she casually folded her hands around her little cup in front of herself.

"I've had better days." 

Though her pensive answer came quietly with her softened countenance, the confluence of all her spirit and affection would appear to regain in the teeming smile that returned the moment she turned her gaze back toward Theron.

"But as of _now_...I think I'm feeling quite sound."

Unable to dismiss the passing shift in her demeanor, however brief, his mirth waned in the shade of his mild concern.

"So, are you tired? You want me to just take you to your hotel?"

Lana's eyes lit in amusement at such a sudden turn in their exchange. She raised her own half-empty drink with an emphatic glance. "I've had a rather sufficient dose of caffeine and sugar to continue the day, Theron. I think I'll be fine."

Quelled by her lighthearted assurance, Theron nodded and laughed. "Okay. Well, we've got nothing official going on 'til tomorrow. 'Cause _someone_ decided to land a day earlier and couldn't find a transit that wouldn't arrive at the crack of dawn..."

Without being prompted to, he stepped across Lana to take the handle of her familiar valise she'd left standing behind her. He smiled inwardly at the thought that he'd easily be able to spot her among even the most bustling crowds solely from its unmistakable plaid print of spring-green and blue. 

Lana crossed her arms with a look of pretended offense as her eyes followed him.

"To spend the day with _you_ ," she reminded him with a challenging glance. "You honestly think I'd have come so early otherwise?"

As he stepped back over toward her, she narrowed her eyes with an imperious little smile as she briefly acknowledged his debonair gesture.

"So you'll be doubling as both chauffeur _and_ valet for me today?" she asked in a sweetened pitch.

Pressing his lips thin, his look grew arid at her quick, underhanded jest.

"It's barely breakfast yet, and you got _two_ in already," he muttered pointedly in his highlighted sarcasm. "You only get two today, Beniko." 

Lana turned her glance upward, adorning a most innocently thoughtful gaze. "I...do recall someone saying once—that the more 'crap' one receives, the more he or she is well-liked?"

There'd been something particularly comical about listening to any manner of profane language uttered by Lana Beniko, as Theron realized she'd never once cursed or spoken a single obscenity in all his recollection of her. And even in an instance of jest, she'd done so in the all-too-familiar eloquence so characteristic of her. He felt his smile tighten in his effort to keep from breaking out in a bout of laughter.

"By the way, there's no repulsor function on this thing?" he asked while lugging the valise behind him. He'd been curious as to why she'd forgo such a convenience for the tedium of having to wheel her belongings about like so.

"It's broken."

Theron paused with a wry look. "Never thought of getting a _new_ one...?"

"I've had _this_ one for a long time, and I've been quite happy with it," she declared proudly. "Unlike you Coruscanti types, I've never felt particularly inclined to systematically replace things of value so wastefully. Especially when there is still a perfectly functional use for them.

"Besides." Giving her dear little valise a quick glance, she smiled. "I've yet to find another in the same print as this."

Sharing in Theron's glowing levity as she returned her attentions to him, Lana, too, pursed her lips to withhold her burgeoning giggles. Once she'd simmered her spirits, she then glided over to his side. In a single motion of deft ease, she reached to take and guide his arm around herself, laying his hand to rest along her shoulder as she slipped the coffee cup from his grasp into her own once again. With both drinks in hand, she blithely wrapped her arms around his waist to envelop him with the dearest of her affections. Wearing the same, unchanged smile, she nodded toward the exit.

"Show me to your speeder."

Pulling her closer, he ushered her along as they proceeded toward the doors.

"It isn't _my_ speeder. It's a rental. On SIS's credit budget, by the way. And you got me using department money to chauffeur your butt around."

His sardonic quip drew another heartened laugh from her. "Show me to your _rental_ ," she revised her request with a beaming delight.

"I'm gonna get in trouble because of you. Trant's gonna have my ass on a platter if he finds out," Theron seamlessly carried on with his tease.

"The Director seems to have historically threatened to 'have your ass on a platter' _many_ times before." Lana paused amid her thought to make a note of peering around to inspect his backside before continuing. "It appears to be perfectly intact to me." 

With a coy smile, she turned a knowing glance back to her companion.

"Besides. From what I've heard, you've done _far_ worse."

"That's what you do? The Director of SIS and the Minister of Sith Intelligence sit and talk about their agents behind their backs over crumpets and tea?" he asked dryly, meeting her gaze with a cynical look of his own.

"No. Just you," Lana answered blithely. "And the occasional crumpets."

Theron's glance grew sedate upon the sudden notion that there'd been certain details his director could very well have shared about him that he'd never been particularly proud of. In his bid to mask his reservations, he nonchalantly turned his attention forward again.

"Yeah? What...kind of stuff does he say about me?"

It'd been a curious thing—how Theron could be brutally aloof even at times when he hadn't necessarily intended to be. Yet in moments like this, Lana could say with perfect certainty that she had hardly been fooled. Hiding her swelling grin as she tightened her arms around him, she stifled a small laugh. She would ride out this opportunity as far as it could be taken.

"He's said _lots_ of things." The simplicity of her response had been meant as a goading tease. And if there'd been anyone who could play the aloof flirt, it'd have been _her_.

Knowing the extent to which he'd ever tried Trant's patience and sanity with his admittedly rather brash and impulsive decisions, Theron couldn't help but begin to feel the pangs of insecurity begin to well at the very pit of his depths. While he'd never done any wrong in the pure sense of the word, he'd known too well what manner of criticisms the man _may_ have reserved against him, and he'd unwittingly come to worry somewhat over what Lana had been told in their private exchanges.

"You know, he... He tends to blow a lot of crap out of proportion sometimes. Just saying."

Upon noting the sudden onset of unease in his composure, the faint swells of her laughter began to fill the air between them. She'd held him wrapped in her arms, after all, and she'd felt every minute muscle at his core tense at his passing wayward thoughts.

"Suddenly so self-conscious, are we? You've never been the type."

"Hey. I've heard the stuff he's said to my _face_. I don't wanna know what kind of stuff he says behind my back."

She turned her look of waxing amusement back to him. "Theron, he likes you."

Lana could feel his tension finally loosen within her arms, and it'd been absolutely humorous to witness his sheer ambivalence over such an inconsequential notion. Shaking her head, she let out a breath before proceeding to further spare his anxieties.

"It'd only come up at all because when we'd last spoken, it'd been in regards to the matter of assigning a Republic liaison for me to work with on official visits or...joint missions—whatever the case. The Director had already prepared a list of candidates to propose." 

She peered up at him and smiled.

"Instead, I suggested _you_." 

Lana felt his hand unconsciously draw her closer from where it'd rested at her shoulder as he listened.

"Of course, he'd vehemently opposed it at first. For all the reasons you suspect he would," she added rather bluntly in her humor. "But I reminded him of our past alliances, of the number of times we'd worked together already. Of...how well we've worked alongside each other. Your merits. Your _loyalty_."

The smile adorned on her lips softened as she listed these innate things about him with a warming glow of pride. 

"No matter how capable the agents on his list may be, no one in your entire half of the galaxy knows me better than _you_."

Though in total honesty, she'd realized long before then, there'd now been no one in _all_ the galaxy who knew her better than Theron Shan. The spectres of her memory did not count. The passing somber thought dulled her candor as she'd fallen into its pensive trails once again. And like all the times she'd been led adrift by them in the past, it'd been Theron's voice that would, as ever, draw her back.

"Remind me to bring you around the next time Trant's about to chew me out for something," he murmured jokingly as he leaned close to her ear.

Lana's eyes blinked upon her mind's return to the present. She pondered his jest before a following thought of trenchant amusement came to mind.

"So that I may share in some of the blame?" she dubiously questioned him. "Or worse yet—I would believe that you'd blame everything on me entirely if it'd absolve you of any faults."

Steering a narrowed, discerning glance back at him, her lips curled to a most astute hint of a smile.

"I think _not_."

 

* * *

 

As the she pushed the familiar ornate door open just a hair, Lana peeked her head through, setting her eyes on the interior of her beloved home for the first time in more than a year. It all remained quite unchanged, to her muted pleasure. No one among the household staff to be seen about in the foyer, just as she'd hoped for. The girl wanted to be discreet about her return, as she'd had so few opportunities in her life to surprise those who she'd felt would welcome the warmhearted gesture.

A man emerging from the upper floor hall came to a slowing halt before reaching the stairwell once he'd spotted this stranger of a girl discreetly stepping in. He crossed his arms, watching as she removed her hat before turning to quietly shut the door behind her.

Once Lana turned around, she immediately caught the man in her sights as he'd begun to descend the stairs. Frozen where she'd stood, she peered at the man with a widened, speechless gaze.

"You know, I'd heard of an old acquaintance," the man began offhandedly as he sauntered down each step. "Went by the name of 'Lana,' who was said to be returning to Dromund Kaas."

He peeled his gaze from the steps at his feet once he'd reached the last of them at the bottom. Meeting the girl's eyes, he slowly revealed a mischievous little grin.

Feeling an inexplicable swell of affection welling within, Lana felt her lips tighten to quell her burgeoning smile as she listened to the man speak.

"She was always terrible about writing home...so I'd almost forgotten who she was," he continued with a casual shrug.

Now beaming, the girl greeted the man in the faintest voice. 

"Hello to you, too, Papa."

Unable to contain his own joyous delight, he gave a sweet laugh as he shook his head. "Could very well have sent _something_. I would've prepared an entire ordeal of a 'welcome' for my dear girl's return."

She broke into her own bout of laughter, finding herself sorely missing her dear father's gentle humor. 

"Exactly the reason why I _don't_ write."

With a welcoming nod, he opened his arms wide for his daughter. "Come here."

Lana hastened from the entrance, flying into her Papa's arms as they'd caught one another in a loving embrace.

"Welcome home, dear," he whispered to his girl's ear warmly.

As they eased apart, Lana looked her father over. He'd been the same as ever in her eyes. Lord Beniko was a tall man, who'd remained quite sturdy in build even in his now middling years. Only, it'd seemed, the sandy brown of his hair had now been dappled by more flecks of grey, shown, too, in the bristling stubble of his face. But as ever, the twinkling, loving radiance in his fatherly, dark-blue eyes had not waned in the least. No. It seemed to brim with even more splendor upon every next moment she'd walked through those doors from yet another return journey home.

Lost in her loving regard for her dearest Papa, Lana hadn't realized that he'd done the very same—proudly looking upon his beloved girl to see how well she'd been. To see how she'd _grown_. There'd almost been a shade of lament in his eyes to see that she'd returned a grown woman now. That it had all gone by so quickly, and he hadn't even been present to witness it.

"You've cut your hair," he noted with a curious smile in a bid to mask his remorse.

His observation stirred her to unconsciously bring her hand through its shortened ends. Lowering her eyes, she smiled bashfully. 

"How does it look?"

Her father's marveling gaze fell on his girl's reticent countenance, and he offered a most assuring smile.

"You're my beautiful, darling girl—long hair or short." Following his pause, he added with a touch of fatherly humor, "With or _without_."

His jest prompted another roll of laughter from his daughter, drawing her from her reserved self-consciousness.

"I thought you'd been keeping it long because you'd wanted to be just like your Ma," he mused curiously once she'd simmered from her mirth.

"I was never so good as she was about caring for it," she answered in a murmur, casting her gaze aside again. 

From her memory and all the images she'd held of her mother, Lana remembered her hair to have always been long and particularly beautiful and lustrous in their rolling waves of golden curls. As much as the girl had tried, she'd never quite been able to imitate the delicate appearance that'd been so characteristic of her fair mother. Lana's own hair had never been quite as fine, never quite as full, nor quite as tame. The easiest and most practical thing to do was to constantly keep it pulled back, resorting to a miscellany of pins and ties just to keep it tidy and proper. Even shortened, her locks remained quite unruly. But as it now was, there'd been far less of a distraction in its care and maintenance to bother herself with.

Her Papa offered a small shrug with a quaint, inward laugh. "I suppose with all the lightsaber battles to be had, it was for the better," he lightly jested.

Amidst the shared glances between father and daughter, Lord Beniko had discerned something unspoken, but quite underscored just beneath the surface. His most sensible intuitions apprised him to many untold things lingering within his girl's heart, but all he'd been able to clearly read was the careful, almost guarded reticence about her.

In spite of her smiles and laughs, he'd glimpsed the slightest trace of melancholy within her ever-astute eyes, made even more evidently so by the extent of her great joy at her simple homecoming. While he'd come to understand there'd been so much more his daughter's eyes could see that he, among others untouched by the Force, had been blind to, there'd still been much far beyond that a _father_ could glimpse within his dear child's heart. He'd been certain that Lana understood this, that she'd understood the nature of his universal love for his girl.

In the silence of their stilled, lingering glances, the father's stirring heart urged him to inquire on his daughter's infirmities, but there'd remained a vestige of something dreadfully profound that held him from doing so, that there'd been a _reason_ for her softened reluctance that was best left unearthed. Torn by his unrelenting indecision, he'd ultimately abstained, allowing his girl—the ordained Sith Lord, as he'd been prone to forget—the liberty of deciding if and when she would choose to reveal any misgivings that lied in her heart.

To see that she'd returned safe and sound, to see such luminous, such wholesome happiness shine forth from her very being, all for the mere simplicity of being at home again— _that_ had been more than enough to set the aging father's own brittle heart at peace.

"I was just about to take my supper," Lana's father spoke first. "I imagine you must be famished, darling. Why don't you come along to the kitchen?"

"I'd love to, Papa." 

Beaming with eagerness, Lana nodded as she'd turned to fetch her belongings from the door. "I'll take my things to my room first."

"Lana, don't be ridiculous, now—" he urged with a generous laugh.

"—It's fine, Papa. Really," she called back to him.

Watching as his daughter grasped the handle of her small, plaid valise, he curiously furrowed his brows to see her tugging it along by its wheels toward the staircase.

"Hm. I could've sworn that thing ran on repulsors..." he mused as she passed him.

Lana paused before ascending the first step. She'd given a sheepish little smile as she turned to him. 

"Broken, apparently. Damaged somehow, in transit on the way to Hoth, I suppose," she shrugged, recalling how she'd come to discover this upon her arrival on the arctic world. 

"Well. Now that's unfortunate," he murmured with a frown, knowing just how fond of the novel little thing his girl had always been.

Lana's smile glistened in reassurance. "It's fine, Papa. It's still got a set of perfectly functional wheels—just for this very purpose."

"All right, now. Come, come," he urged, ushering her over with a wave of the hand. "All the more reason to leave it for the droids to take care of, sweetheart. Don't worry yourself over it."

She paused before proceeding, letting her hand slip from its grasp around the valise's handle. She'd very nearly forgotten about the convenience of their household service droids about, having grown so accustomed to tending to her own manual tasks at all the humble residences she'd been assigned abroad. 

Shaking her head at the comical realization, she then drifted back to her Papa's side. Linking her arm around his, she bore all her sweetest affections in her beaming smile before following his lead down the hall toward the kitchen.

Lana had almost forgotten how expansive and grand the interior of her home had been, seeming to be much larger and spacious than it truly was with so few residents to fill its rooms. For years, it had only been young Lana and her Papa, along with the few others within their household staff. And when the years had passed, her absence had followed that of her late mother's once she'd been called away to Korriban to begin her Sith training. She realized that by now, she'd spent nearly half of her life—the greater part of her childhood—away from home. Even so, these walls never felt foreign to her. Its warmth never unfamiliar. Each time she'd set foot in this place again, she'd never felt estranged within its safe bounds. Not a single measure of its space ever felt the least bit unwelcoming. 

It'd been her father's gentle, rolling chuckle that broke the comfort of their silence as they strolled down the long hall, interrupting Lana's wandering gaze tracing the lines of their path taken as the memories they'd held filled the coffers of her heart once again.

"You would never guess who had been asking of you just recently..."

Baffled by her father's sudden remark, she perked her gaze as her brows knitted curiously at what this could possibly have meant.

"Asking of... _me_? What for?"

Turning a droll look at his girl's innocent obliviousness, his expression glowed with the most generous, elusive grin. 

"In interest of the exploits of a young, successful Sith Lord returning in triumph from a grave mission for the Empire?" He'd sprawled his words with a colorful flair to paint the image for her.

"I've only been back for hardly several days," she murmured dubiously. 

The girl had given every effort to avoid the public eye since her return. She'd found it hard to believe this could at all already have become a topic of conversation among _any_ whispering circles.

"Lana, dear. You'll find that such a résumé of accomplishments would pique even the _merest_ interest of any bored young elite with nary a thing to do in all of Dromund Kaas," her father jested, unsurprised that his girl would respond with such lukewarm enthusiasm at the very thought.

" _Bored_...?" A shade of distaste dulled her expression as she remarked in passive dismissal. "Why don't they simply find things of interest to pursue, then?"

She'd coldly admonished the very idea, as their great Empire had only freshly disengaged from open warfare. Lana herself had not been so soon to leave behind the raw recollection of the winter battleground she had only days ago returned from.

"...Things _outside_ of gratuitous gossip and frivolous chatter," she mumbled in objection.

"Oh...but they have, dearie," he sang lightly as he approached the kitchen doors, "they most certainly _have_."

Trying to contain his glowing amusement, her father slipped ahead of her through the kitchen doors as they slid open, leaving Lana to follow him some paces behind.

Flying over toward the stove, he hovered above the simmering pots to peruse the selection already prepared earlier in the evening by the household cook. The lids clapped and clanged as he lifted each to sample and sniff at what there'd been to choose from.

Lana watched her Papa as he hummed at the stove, lingering by the modest little table in the adjacent space. When there'd been no reason to use the main dining hall, Lana always shared her meals with her Papa right there in the kitchen where the usual household staff would sit and take their own meals. When she'd seen him retrieve two plates to fill, she quickly interjected.

"Oh, Papa—no. No, thank you," she called aloud to him.

Pausing before he'd had a chance to set the dishes down, he turned to her. "Darling, you won't eat?" His inquiry had been laced with both surprise and a hint of concern.

"Not tonight. No," she shook her head, realizing after finding no change in her appetite, even upon catching the scents of the kitchen aroma, that she'd been in no mood to eat that evening.

"It's all right. I just..." Lana's words trailed away as she lowered her eyes in a gentle breath. She found herself to have been more exhausted than anything, though she'd made great efforts to contain her weariness before her dear Papa. There'd been such a weight that continued to dwell on her heart and mind no matter how far away she'd tried to cast them.

As the Lord Beniko peered over his daughter's somber countenance, his smiles faded in the shift of his gaze.

"...Lana?" he called to his girl in the barest hush of his voice.

Blinking as her attentions returned, she remained taken by her sudden pause. Her lips tightened before she'd finally been able to will them to smile. It'd been such a small gesture to give. But for her Papa, she would offer every tiniest remnant of herself she could, knowing that it'd been such things that gave his heart any reassurance of his dearest little girl. 

"I'm fine. Papa, really—I am."

Try as she might, Lana willed herself to maintain her mask of composure, but her lips pressed tighter as her anxieties began to take hold of her heart again. She resisted every attempt the world outside had made to press its dolor and gloom upon the sanctum of her home. This place represented love and security, and she'd refused to allow its grounds to be touched by despair. None of its ghosts would be permitted to wander within her beloved space. _None_.

At last, Lana released all bounds that had gripped her being so. She smiled _truly_ for her Papa.

"You've known what it's felt to be so exhausted," she reminded him in the sweetest tone. "When you're so tired and spent to hold _any_ appetite."

Lana shook her head dolefully, but her smile contained the whole of all her affections and love, reserved for only her beloved Papa. 

"I just don't have the energy tonight. That's all."

Only able to take his girl's assurance for what it'd been, Lana's father relented and nodded. If this had been what she'd required of him, then he would allow her this minor, comforting respite. He then set away the second dish back into its cabinet.

"All right."

Lana pulled one of the corner chairs out from the table for her father before coming to her own at its adjacent side, beaming as she watched the man shuffle over into his seat. It'd been almost comical—she hadn't been surprised in the least to see the generous portions he'd scooped for himself once he set his plate down. A sample of _everything_ , as always.

But it would seem her mirth had gone unnoticed as he appeared to mind himself with quietly eating his meal, carrying some measure of reluctance for disturbing the rather disconcerting, heavy silence in the air. In doing so, he'd only meant to be thoughtful of his girl's comforts, although _silence_ had not been what Lana wanted in the least.

Pursing her lips together in her swelling amusement, she eyed the silly man as she clasped her small hands beneath her chin.

"...That doesn't mean I'm too tired for a nice conversation with _you_ , Papa."

His sudden spasm of laughter caused him to sputter. Lana shared in his humorous outburst as she handed him a napkin to dab away where he'd smeared a spoonful along his lips. Once he'd calmed his fit, he mimicked his girl's leisured manner, bringing his face to rest idly upon his palm as he turned to her.

"A _conversation_? Of what nature, then? I'll leave it to you to dictate," he suggested wryly. "Clearly, you outrank me in this household—young _Sith Lord_?"

Lana gave an airy laugh. "I don't know," she murmured, taking a moment to consider it. "The same matters we always talk about across the dining table..."

"Ah," the elder Beniko thoughtfully nodded to himself. He then redirected his attentions to the Sith girl with renewed frankness.

"So. Had you come across any nice young fellows along your travels at all, darling?" he asked nonchalantly as he picked his spoon back up to continue with his meal.

" _Papa!_ " the young girl cried incredulously, very nearly berating her devious father.

The deliberate intent behind his tease of a question had been unmistakable the moment he'd broken into laughter once again, failing utterly to contain it as he'd meant to do.

" _What?_ You said—'the same matters we always talk about.'"

Her lips had parted in her initial shock, but she'd soon realized how cleverly the wily man had turned her words around, and she conceded to his sly maneuver in gracious defeat. Pressing her lips together in a thin smile, she turned her eyes away with affected indifference.

"It seems your ridiculous question will always be the same every time. My answer, too, remains unchanged...if you _must_ know, Papa."

Still rumbling in the swell of his fond chuckles, he shook his head with a clear look of accomplishment.

"You know, when youths start reaching about your age...they're not often so honest with themselves about... _many_ things. They're even less honest with others," he mused. As he turned his gaze upon his daughter once again, there'd come an element of sincerity beneath his gentle humor.

"And even less so with their _parents_."

He watched as a sheepish little grin broadened across his girl's gentle features. How she'd come to resemble her beautiful mother more and more with each passing day, the aging Lord Beniko noted. The very thought, however considerable in its loving affections, had never been completely free of its underlying melancholy. 

As much as Lana had been the shimmering, undying light of his existence, the late Lady Beniko would forever be the shadow cast behind him by his dearest girl's brilliant radiance. She'd been the lingering phantom whose presence would never quite leave his being. And at his depths, he'd feared the day when he, too, would become a ghost among Lana's memories. He'd wondered, then, if she would learn to leave her spectres behind in the world where they belonged, or if she, like her father, would forever carry them within the shadows that walked at her feet.

Placing a gentle hand to her face, he brushed his fingers along her cheek and through a wisp of her golden hair.

"You know you can always be honest about anything around your old Papa, sweetheart." 

Lana smiled, pressing her much smaller hand over his and nodded.

He lingered, holding the door open in his final bid to encourage her to speak what her heart seemed so reluctant to share. It hadn't taken a vision of the Force to empower his intuitions to _know_ that there lied many private things his girl held within herself. Though he had not known her precise reasons why she would not speak of them, he'd glimpsed such trepidation before, bitterly reminded of how such _heartache_ had troubled her own mother so over long years. Lana had been so _young_ , he could never be sure if she herself had ever even realized.

"All right." 

Once it seemed certain that she would not speak further, he dismissed the thought entirely. 

"No more of this old coot's ramblings. I promise. I'm sure you must be tired, darling. No need to humor me into the wee hours of the night. Off to your room, now," he urged her with a merest gleam of a smile.

"Left it exactly the way it's always been. Just for you."

As he pulled her in for a sweet peck on the brow, Lana sounded in a sweet hum of a laugh.

"Goodnight, Papa," she uttered softly to his ear as she drew her arms over his shoulders, pulling him into a warm embrace.

"Dream well, sweetheart," he whispered back, patting the back of her head as she nestled her face against his own.

Lana then eased out of his arms and rose from her chair. Stopping at the doorway, she turned to leave her dear Papa with the lingering glimmer of her most endearing regard before disappearing off into the hall. When the light had gone, he'd once again been left in the familiar solitude he'd grown so accustomed to in her absence. In the company of no one but the ghost who'd walked in the shadow of every step he'd taken within the cold, barren rooms of their empty home.

 

* * *

 

In the following weeks of Lana's return, the Beniko household had seen an unusual wave of visitors through its doors. Some had been acquaintances of the Lord Beniko's. _All_ had been unfamiliar strangers Lana had never previously met or known. A great number of them had been young men of well-to-do families displaying a trend of sudden vested interest in Beniko's daughter—the celebrated young Sith Lord who'd overseen the success of 'Hoth's liberation' from the hands of the reviled Republic.

It had taken only a short time among these guests for Lana to learn that there had been a convenient, pervasive disregard for the casualties and violence that had preceded the armistice. What had begun with her politely attempting to greet and entertain such visitors soon grew wearying, and she'd quickly found herself in constant search for any excuse to avoid their audience altogether. Such a lot had consisted of Kaas City's spoiled, privileged elite—the sort she had never felt comfortable associating with even in her youth. Her reluctance would unwittingly place much of the efforts upon her father to invent repeated excuses on her behalf time and time again.

_"Tell them I'm away, Papa."_

_"And 'to where' shall I tell them?"_

_"I don't know—anywhere! Hoth! They can follow me there if they want so badly to speak with me. I'll give them a grand tour of the spectacular remnants of the battlegrounds if they like!"_

_"Lana—"_

_"—No, Papa. No more. I won't see them."_

_"Sweetheart, I'm concerned."_

_"About what? That I shall deprive these poor, wanting gentlemen a prize to pursue? That I shall offend their delicate, faint hearts by my cruel indifference?"_

_"Lana."_

_"They all_ forget _, Papa—it is a Sith Lord whose affections they seek. They have no business with me if their 'gentle' hearts could not endure my seeming callousness. See if they deign to return again once they've been reminded of this."_

_"...Do you think it sensible to turn away so many prospective friendships to be made, Lana? I worry for you."_

_"Friendship begins with_ understanding _, Papa. They understand nothing. Please. Send them away."_

Lana never asked her father what he'd relayed to their guests, nor did she much care. She'd only been glad once their intrusions had become less frequent as the days passed. Yet even then, there'd been no way to avoid the slew of letters and parcels that arrived almost daily for her. Lana's only deliverance then had been the freedom to respond of her own accord, and as of late, she'd given up on bothering to compose even the most perfunctory replies to send back to her admirers.

There'd come a day, at last, when the calm appeared to settle upon their household. On this particular day, Lana had treated herself to a leisurely morning, arising from bed just shy of afternoon. She'd woken and glimpsed through her window to see that there had come a break in the gentle rains that day as well. The skies remained in its haze of the familiar overcast of clouds, but the air was still and quite temperate.

She pressed her hand against the cool glass of her room's window as she gaze upward through it. After enduring the winter of Hoth, days like these had been a divine reprieve—like a blessed omen sent forth by the grace of the Force itself. After all, Lana briefly reminded herself, it _had_ been a time to celebrate. 

Before looming down the halls to the kitchen to find her first meal of the day, she'd quietly slipped out into the small courtyard, drawn by her eagerness to bask in the day's pleasure to be found beyond those walls. Along the veranda leading out to the courtyard, there'd been a particular stone bench she recalled. Because it'd been placed right at the edge of the terrace, it'd been the only bench protected from the rain, and its placement had been why she'd most frequently sat and played around it as a child. Lana had even recalled the rare days when her mother accompanied her out into the yard. It had been on _that_ stone bench where she would sit, watching while her little girl blissfully ran about through the lawn and gardens.

As she took her seat within the very same spot Lady Beniko had once sat upon, Lana's eyes peered out into the gardens. The air had been awash in the scent of lavender, a familiar aroma she'd long missed over the many years spent away from home. She looked among the green of the gardens to see the dapples of their violet petals all around. There, she'd envisioned the little girl. How she laughed and shouted as she played among the trees and the flowers. How she'd paused every so often, steering her eyes back to that very spot in search of her mother, always checking to see that she had still been there. The lament she'd seen in her glistening eyes for being unable to join her little girl.

How vividly Lana could remember it all. And when she closed her eyes—as though the spectres themselves had been summoned to reveal such a vision of their world, a mere _glimpse_ behind the thickly painted veil—she'd _seen_ all of this unfold before her. 

All it had taken was a single moment. An instant. It'd been almost imperceptible. A merest shift unbound by the constraints or direction of time. Lana had felt it surfacing from deep within her heart. 

Mourning.

_Sorrow._

She'd realized then, for all the conviction and resolve she'd held to forbid the universe from such incursions upon this hearth, its sorrows had _always_ been a looming presence here. Such a foolish thing she'd realized herself to be, to forget that Hoth had hardly been the _only_ world where ghosts dwelled. The veil existed everywhere the eyes glimpsed. Anywhere the eyes could see. Whether they'd been wide open or willed shut, it had been _all_ she could see. As long as the ghosts compelled her to, her eyes would _always_ see.

"Ah. There you are, Mistress Beniko."

The most gentle disturbance came in the unassuming voice of a young man.

Taken by his unexpected arrival, Lana darted her gaze over her shoulder toward her visitor. It'd only been a moment before the girl had been overcome by the sudden mild glow of embarrassment as she minded her appearance. She'd still been dressed in her previous night's sleeping clothes—a tunic and trousers of simple, light and loose-fitted cotton in plain white. Running her fingers through her disheveled, unbrushed hair, she hastily turned away, knowing she'd hardly been presentable as she was for any guests.

The youth laughed upon seeing her sudden anxiousness. "No worries at all, I assure you," he spoke with a shy smile. "I promise I will not judge."

Picking herself up from the bench, Lana cleared her throat as she turned to her guest. She offered a polite little smile as she peered at his features, recognizing only enough in his face to know that they had previously met on some prior occasion before.

"You're...Lord Seiter's son," she murmured with a color of doubt.

Her address brightened his generous smile. "You remember. I'm glad."

In all honesty, Lana had hardly remembered. His face had been vaguely recognizable enough, and she'd recalled this young man's pleasant manners, though that had been about the extent of it. She couldn't remember his name in the least and prudently made all efforts to evade its mention entirely.

"What, um—what brings you..." Unsure of what to say, she paused on her drifting words. With a breath of clarity, she'd then reserved a moment to calm her nerves. 

"Are you...looking for my father? He isn't here—"

"—Well, _no_ ," he quickly interjected. "No. I was hoping to find you, actually, Miss Beniko."

Lana's composure sank within upon hearing this. "Oh," she uttered quietly. 

Lowering her eyes to avoid his scrutiny, she gave a thin smile in her best efforts to present herself as graciously as she could.

"Was there something you'd wished to inquire me of?"

The youth's demure hesitance had shown in his hanging silence. "Well, I'd..." 

Having briefly lost his words, he'd taken a moment to redirect his glance about. His sheepish smile only returned once he'd found where to begin.

"An offhanded question—had you received the last gift my father had sent for you?"

Straightening her posture as she collected herself, she willed her manners to remain sweet and tactful in spite of her lingering distaste of the rather uninvited pretentiousness of the gift in question. 

"I had. Yes," she answered stiffly.

"I know—it'd been addressed from my father, but actually...I'd been the one who'd chosen it," he shared blithely with a most reserved gleam of a smile. "Did you find it to your liking?"

Lana pressed her lips together, quickly searching her mind for a most courteous choice of words with which to answer this mild youth. 

"A fine scarf of pure _Saava silk_ ," she recalled the opulent gift to mind. She'd only been able to offer a halfhearted smile before easing along the surface of her most sincere intentions. "I'm afraid such a delicate garment would not last if worn by a Sith bound for any battlefield."

The girl could only lightly jest as she hadn't had the heart to tell him that she did not keep the gift, having generously given it to one of their housekeepers, who'd then sent it to her own daughter on her home planet.

He laughed in good humor, accepting her excuse wholeheartedly. "Right, I...I didn't consider that, I suppose."

Peeling his eyes from the ground, the young man finally found the courage to steer them upon the Sith girl with his full regard. His slight frame rose with the swell of his collected breath as he willed himself not to shy away from what he'd meant to do in seeking out the Lord's daughter.

"I should hope, then, that what I've brought this time would suffice."

Lana's smile grew sedate as her lips parted. " _Another_ gift...?" she asked in the merest, dwindling voice.

Overcome by his own eager delight, the delicate shift in her demeanor had gone utterly unnoticed as he idled himself, fishing through the pocket within his jacket's breast. Finding what he'd intended to reveal, he pulled from it a small, ornate case that the Sith girl had recognized immediately to be the sort that could only have housed fine jewelry within.

Lana's unenthusiastic eyes watched as he paced over toward her, dearly marveling at the object in his hands before graciously presenting it to her.

"Please, have a look," he invited blissfully as she tentatively accepted it.

Though she'd been reluctant to, she'd done so as to not unduly offend the rather kind lad. As she opened the sumptuously gilded case, her breath silently hitched within her throat once her eyes peered upon the opulent item found within.

"The most... _beautiful_ necklace—the diamonds are all Arkanian, and the pendant is carved from a pure, black Krayt pearl," the young man proceeded to detail amid Lana's speechless awe. "Immediately, I thought of _you_."

Setting his anxious gaze upon her, he awaited the girl's response, only to realize that her eyes had not left the splendor of the treasure held in her two hands since the moment they'd glimpsed it. Nor had the indecipherable bleakness that shaded her countenance relented in the least.

The youth lowered his eyes once again upon his next arresting thought.

"I know I've said it repeatedly," he spoke with a wisp of a laugh, "but...I think you are very beautiful, Miss Beniko."

It'd been upon these words that she'd been convinced of her own consummate disinterest in this youth. With such expansive worlds that separated them, she'd seen no span of commonality or insight to be shared between them. This desolate revelation, once it'd become clear, stirred her to then speak only in candid sincerity henceforth.

"When people repeat such words in excess...they begin to lose their meaning," she uttered in a subdued tone, now growing jaded by the worn and redundant flattery.

Although the Sith girl's words had not at all been harsh, they'd been enshrouded beneath a stark haze, setting upon his disheartened spirits such a growing weight of despondence. The light of his smile waned as he listened to her words.

Slowly shutting the case, Lana quietly handed it back to the young man in her gentle refusal of the gift.

"It _is_ a very beautiful necklace." The factual, almost removed manner in which she'd stated this had been an explicit demonstration of her very point. "One that should be in the hands of a recipient who would appreciate its intended worth."

Lana watched as the young man halfheartedly reclaimed the gift she returned. The vestiges of her lament began to surface as she glimpsed the dolor within the gaze he'd cast upon the rejected item in his hands.

"I apologize. There is little I have to offer you as any sort of friend. Truly," she added tacitly. "And...as I cannot be certain of the precarious nature of the Sith's duties, I don't even know if I would be a friend to you for very long."

She swallowed upon these grim words as the pieces of her own recollection took hold of her already heavy heart. The sum of all her allies she'd witnessed lose their lives had been many, and by such brutal and unforeseen turns of fortune. So intimately familiar with _knowing_ such bereavement, Lana had come to fear most the prospect of inflicting the same grief upon others. 

Excepting her Papa, the girl had grown increasingly reluctant to reveal her heart to any outside eyes, holding it tightly safeguarded within her own being. The lines tethered to it had all been cleanly severed, save for only the most vital of them. And _those_ , she'd only allowed to be held within her own secure hands. _Those_ had been the very lifelines that'd kept her from plunging into the abyss beneath her feet. 

"Of course," the young man spoke in a small voice. "You are the protectors of the Empire. I respect and admire that greatly."

With a gentle, understanding nod, he offered a dignified smile, though it'd been easy to discern the mild bitterness beneath its surface. 

"Well, I...I am honored to have had the pleasure of knowing you. I thank you for your time and your friendship, Mistress Beniko. However short-lived."

All Lana could bear to leave him with had been a merest smile in return, though she was certain that even that gesture had been far lacking, despite her most sincere intentions.

"Enjoy your afternoon. Please send my regards to your father." With a polite bow of the head, the young man turned to excuse himself.

The solitude in which Lana had been left to wallow had only been fleeting, as the barren silence was then faintly disturbed by the steady patter of footsteps approaching from behind. She'd heard them, but she did not stir, almost certain of whom they'd belonged to. The steps halted beside her.

"You surprise me, Lana. He seemed a kind lad."

"'Kind'?" she murmured with a cynical edge. "Just because he makes sure he's on his best behavior around me?" she questioned as she turned to look to her father. Lana had already sensed his presence close by shortly after the young suitor had approached her.

Her father then gave an amused little laugh. "You speak of him like he's some calculating deviant of a child."

"No. Not quite so. But his _father_ certainly is," she remarked upon her dull recollection of the man in question.

"The boy's nothing like the elder Seiter. He's been awfully generous to you, my girl. And he's an earnest one." As ever, the great humor in her Papa's voice only swelled when it ever came to such topics of conversation with his darling girl.

"He is _relentless_ in his bombardment of these... _gifts_."

"You don't think it a gesture of earnest generosity?"

Lana's lips tightened. She was hardly one to ever be persuaded by such contrived gestures.

"Generosity is another thing, Papa. He sends me all manners of useless novelties I have no interest in. His gifts are more so for _himself_ than for me," she responded with a reproachful spirit. "May the Force forbid that I ever _forget_ —he is wealthy and thereby within means to purchase any and all trinkets and baubles as he pleases."

Folding his hands behind him, the elder Beniko paced out from the veranda toward the lawns of the courtyard. The mirthful humor he'd worn had gone unnoticed as he turned away.

"Had I known you'd held such _disdain_ for those of means..."

Her father's gentle jest drew a gleam of a smile back to Lana's lips.

"Not _you_. You were never like that."

In the brief silence that followed, her aversion began to ease as she realized that much of her exasperation may well have been misplaced. She crossed her arms as she released a long breath.

"He knows _nothing_ about me, Papa."

Dwelling on her sentiments, her father then turned his attentions back from the gardens toward his daughter in thoughtful regard.

"Perhaps he simply needs time to become better acquainted with the young woman he's become so enamored with."

"He's never once even bothered to _ask_. Shouldn't that be the obvious thing to do?"

Lord Beniko had always been particularly curious about how circumspect his daughter had often been prone to be. While most girls her age would have been so blissfully distracted, enchanted by such attention, Lana would be the odd other who'd respond with such insightful, almost skeptical scrutiny.

"Such a waste of time. If he'd wanted to be kind—if his intention was to show his generosity...all he need do is listen. Be observant. Be _understanding_."

Her expression once again began to wither once her heart had been led to linger over quite another realm of her innermost thoughts, reminded by the very words she'd spoken. Such nuances in her shifting demeanor had never gone unnoticed by her astute father's senses. His smile persisted as he opted to further engage her, perpetually led by a badgering suspicion that there'd always been far more beneath the surface of her words.

"Well. There are some who take an entire lifetime to learn that."

Lana lowered her eyes to the ground with a distant look.

"Those are not the people I am interested in befriending, Papa."

His girl's unflinching response brought such a light of esteem to his spirits. Pacing back over to her, he turned his gaze curiously upon her fleeting countenance.

"Considering your prudence in choosing your friends, I should like to meet them someday."

His voice drew her back from her wandering sentiments. She blinked upon her mind's return, only to be caught along another pause as her next stark realization dawned on her thoughts.

"Well, it is to this... _prudence_...that I owe thanks for the lack of them."

When Lana's gaze fell on her Papa, her sinking heart had warmed to see how ardent the joy of his expression had been. Even upon a face weathered by the past several solitary years he'd been consigned to upon the absence of his most beloved ones, Lana could always find a glimmer of consolation in his gaze. As joyous as it had been for her to come home to her Papa, she'd sensed the profound happiness in his heart to have his girl back had far eclipsed her own. After all, Lana had only grown to be so skilled at hiding the fervor of her own sentiments by example. 

When it appeared as though there'd been a trailing thought hanging on his barest breath, it'd passed completely as she watched him redirect his gaze past her toward another presence approaching.

"Ah. Yes, Ma'am?" he sang blithely, addressing their dear, head housekeeper in greeting as she stepped out into the veranda. "Has lunch been prepared so soon?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, the afternoon's meal is now ready, Lord Beniko," the darling woman beamed in her thick, charming accent. "But _also_..." 

The whimsical little look worn on her face had indicated that there'd been some other matter she'd specifically come to inform them of.

Taking her time to come over to the Lord and his daughter, she revealed a small item tucked away in her apron. "A letter." She turned to Lana with a sympathetic smile. "For the _Miss_."

With a tiring sigh, the girl rolled her eyes incredulously upon hearing this. "Good grief, _another_ one...?" she uttered with considerable exasperation.

The woman sweetly offered her sincerest regard in good humor, her small bid to help ease the young girl's unremitting displeasure at the incessant stream of correspondences of late.

"I wish they would just _stop_ ," she mumbled, taking the letter as the woman promptly excused herself to return to her duties. "Save me the trouble of having to respo—"

She came to an abrupt halt the moment she'd looked to see who the sender had been.

"Something the matter, Lana?" her father inquired, puzzled by her sudden pause.

Pressing her lips together, she slowly raised her eyes back to him with a middling smile.

"Oh. Nothing," she assured him softly with a shake of the head. "I, um...I think I shall take my meal in my room this afternoon. If that would be all right, Papa."

Though he'd sensed something amiss about her, her father respectfully declined from questioning her further on the matter.

"Certainly, dear," he halfheartedly relented.

"I apologize," she murmured before she turned to quickly head back inside, "it's...it's a matter of work, it seems."

"Yes, of course, Lana. Do what you must," he nodded with a reassuring smile quite in spite of his own anxiousness.

Too absorbed in the piece of mail she'd held in her hands, Lana disappeared back into the house, oblivious to the shade of fermenting unease that she'd left her worrying father in.

Her magnetized gaze could not leave the words sprawled on the envelope even as she'd continued down the empty hall. It'd been weeks since her encounter with _him_ —with this man. She recalled the lofty words he'd left her upon his departure. They'd been beyond generous, almost inconceivable to even consider. The unshakable doubt that had given her such reluctance then had not gone even in the time passed over those previous weeks. Though while Lana had found it effortless to discard the letters of all her inquirers with such involuntary ease, she could not bring herself to ignore one written by the pen of Darth Arkous himself.

 

* * *

 

_Darth Arkous' correspondence._

She remembered its words well. She remembered the proposal written within its contents and the days upon days it had taken her to _decide_ before she could, at last, draft her own in response. She had taken her time, biding the days as long as she could between the lengthy exchanges she had shared with the Dark Lord. How many times she'd seen it written for all his attempts to persuade her in his pursuit—the words she'd remembered _most_ distinctly.

'Seize your fortunes as they come.'

_Your words, you old, dead fool._

Lana supposed that may have been the first thread that began all of this. The one upon which the rest of this underlying image had been woven within the whole of the tapestry. For all the pains and troubles she'd endured because of that man, she'd consequently been led along the lines toward something _quite_ more remarkable than any fantastical promise he'd ever offered her.

Fortune came in many faces, she reminded herself yet again.

And from the place where she'd now found herself, she could peer into his very eyes. She could speak with him. _Touch_ him.

In the quiet comfort that had settled between them, Theron watched as Lana's attentions drifted idly over the world around their private space. His eyes followed the trail of her own, gazing across the street at the winding path along the perimeter of the park they'd just come from. The sound of loud splashing and laughter caught his attention, and he'd realized that the small girl who'd been playing in the large puddle along the unevenly paved concourse had been what Lana's eyes were watching.

A swell of faint laughter filled the air as the little girl's young mother took her by the hand, and in a single great leap, they'd sent the fresh rainwater at their feet bursting all around them. Theron's eyes drifted from the pair back to Lana, who'd been seated across from him at their small cafe table. He'd turned his gaze just in time to glimpse the gentle gleam of an endearing smile along Lana's lips as she marveled at the scene unfolding before her. For all the affection he'd read in the delight of her calming eyes, he'd also seen something distant within them. Something remote. Something _somber_.

Recounting all of their shared time, Theron knew he had seen enough of Lana to recognize the shade of sorrow cast over her vision. It had been a rare thing to witness of her, and thereby all the more apparent when he'd glimpsed it. 

He'd known Lana well enough not to compel her to talk of anything she did not readily share. That the most he could ever do is provide a haven where she would be free to speak her heart. Whether she'd been inclined to or not was always her decision to make. 

Upon his remembrance of a droll little thought, Theron spoke across the table, meaning to breathe some life back into the stilled air between them.

"No green today?"

Lana paused and turned a curious glance back to her companion at the puzzling, offhanded question.

Seeing the light of amusement illuminated in her eyes again, he grinned at how easily he'd always been able to draw her back. 

"Grey, grey, another grey, and black," he noted, pointing out the rather limited shades in her choice of dress that day, conspicuously more muted than her already low-key color preferences.

She looked down at herself, following where his eyes glanced. " _Oh_ ," Lana laughed with a small shrug. 

Bringing herself upright, she then turned her gaze about at their surroundings with a pretended look of exaggerated wonder. "But an appropriate match to the general palette of this world, don't you think?" she commented in reference to the drab overtones left behind by the passing showers. "Besides. Simply because one favors a certain color doesn't mean they'll wear it so often."

Theron's eyes gained an artful gleam as he turned them on her with circumspect scrutiny. Though it'd been his sharpened smile that revealed more of his playful artifice than his gaze.

"You wear a lot of green. But something of an inkling tells me it's _not_ your favorite color."

Lana recognized the intent behind this look of his immediately, and she leveled her own gaze as it met his, subduing the light of her candor to its faintest wavelength. She _knew_ when Theron tried to read her, and she was never so fain as to allow him such an erroneously generous glimpse. What had she been to him but a puzzle—and a most wittingly _challenging_ one at that? 

"There are _many_ people who do not dress in the colors they are most fond of," she sang in seeming agreement. "But _some_ do."

"You're not one of them. That'd be too obvious. And you've never been _that_ obvious."

Leaning against the small table, Theron pressed his forearms flat against its edge. The probing curiosity that directed his gaze never faltered as his eyes continued to search for clues worn on her countenance. Her gestures.

"I know you like lavenders."

"... _Do_ I?"

While her untelling smile hadn't stirred in the least, Theron had still been able to catch her briefest, most subtle pause.

"I smell it all over you almost all the time," he remarked plainly. "My guess...soaps? Detergents?" He narrowed his eyes as he searched all that his memory's senses could recall. "You don't wear perfume," Theron added with clear certainty. He'd known the scent of perfume when he smelled its distinct aroma.

Lana appeared to fall deeper into the shadow of her cryptic stillness, her smile bearing nothing but her aloof playfulness. A _tease_. That was the only glimpse she'd been willing to offer him.

But in Theron's eyes, the merest gain to be seen upon her lips had been all he needed to confirm his observations.

"I know people normally don't choose a 'favorite' flower by its color...but I get the feeling that's why you like them. Or, at least, _one_ of the reasons why," he continued on this trailing suspicion. "Lavenders are purple. I think _that's_ your favorite color."

"And what makes you come to _that_ conclusion?"

Drumming his fingers against the table, Theron lingered silently as his mind dangled along the ends of the threads, numbering all the revealing cues and traces he could gather from them. His fingers then stilled before he raised his hand, directing his forefinger in an emphatic gesture, his daring response to the woman's assumed nonchalance.

"Everytime—when we pass by a shop or some little kiosk or something...the _first_ things you turn to look at are the trinkets in purple."

He steered his eyes over the expanse of the view they had of the park area across the street from them, nodding in the direction of the concourse that weaved through it where there'd been an assortment of different plants and flora along its trail.

"The flowering plants along that path there—when we walked through the park, you reached out to touch some of them when we passed by. The ones you brushed your hand over were the _only_ purple flowers in the entire park.

"And of all the obvious colors you've ever worn, I've never once seen even a _hint_ of purple on you. Ever." 

As Theron pitched himself forward in his chair, the self-assured smile he'd now proudly worn had been his coup de grâce.

"You know—there's such a thing as 'obvious' subtlety, too."

In the face of all the naked observations he'd thrown at her, Lana's commitment to her assumed poise remained unfazed.

"You seem awfully confident of your conjectures, Mr. Shan," she responded passively, meaning to sew even the merest seed of doubt within his certainty for the sheer sport of it.

Theron's brows perked at her distinctly chosen manner of address. "Oh, I'm down to _Mr._ now, huh?"

In the thrill of her own great amusement, Lana pressed her lips into a devious little smile as she narrowed her gaze. 

"How else does one address her personal _chauffeur_?"

"And...we're back full-circle," he nodded with a wry smile. He shook his head at her sharp jest before falling back to the familiarity of his usual sarcasm.

"Well, not to knock on your skills or anything..." he murmured, dismissing her attempts to divert him as he steered them back to the trail of their original thought. "See, _you_ do the easy thing and use the Force when you need to read other people. SIS—we're trained to _profile_. There's no ability you can turn on to block _that_. Sith or not," he reminded her candidly with a trace of his gentle humor, " _everybody's_ got a tell."

Folding her hands over the table as she drew herself forward just ever slightly, Lana's smile broadened at his thinly veiled challenge. 

"So you think you've found _mine_?"

Theron gave a mere shrug. "Like I said. There's such a thing as 'obvious' subtlety."

With most people, as he'd come to learn over the course of his career, there'd always been an accompanying sense of anxiousness beneath their composure in any attempts to divert. While it had taken him some time to realize this, that had never been the case with Lana Beniko. He'd recognized her natural indifference when she'd shown it, and he'd learned to discern when she committed a certain amount of confidence beneath it when her indifference had been deliberate.

Their unyielding stares had persisted, quite level in their matched resolve, though they'd remained entirely playful. It'd been like a silent game of rivals' dare, and it would seem that Theron had been first to wane in the sights of Lana's imposing display. What had first been an even challenge had devolved to fun and absurdity before it'd minimally begun to just grow a bit awkward. Theron then comically shifted his eyes aside upon the brewing discomfort welling between them.

"...I was right— _right_?" he finally asked her, caving under his sudden swell of doubt.

The sound of Lana's glorious, hanging laughter filled the air as she reveled in her triumph of the silent match. As she reserved the placid moment to collect herself, she lounged back into her chair once again, soundly clasping her hands over her lap. As though an unseen drift of the wind had beckoned her away into its gentle grasp, her lofty smile appeared to grow as distant as the vision that took hold of her wandering gaze.

"Lavenders were my _mother's_ favorite flowers. She loved them. We kept them all over the gardens at home, and you'd smell them from nearly every window of the house. I often played in the gardens as a girl while she watched from afar."

Lana then turned her eyes back to the man seated across from her.

"You must know—how constant the rains are on Dromund Kaas. But it is not a such a dreary world, as most people seem to think," she shared with fleeting fondness as the memories came. "It is for those generous rains that Dromund Kaas' springs are among the most bountiful in color as you'll ever see. The splashes of lavender were always the first and fullest of the colors to be found in our gardens. _Hence_ ," Lana's gaze warmed with the teeming gain of her smile, "purple is my favorite color."

The crest of her endearments then waned as quickly as it'd come as the following bittersweet afterthought seized her heart.

"But it is also why I don't often wear it," she continued in a subdued voice as her smile grew somber. "It's always reminded me so much of Mother."

Lana's wayward gaze had then been drawn back after glimpsing Theron's sudden stirring at the corner of her eye. She turned to witness as he casually retrieved something from his pocket, tossing it across the surface of the small table toward her.

"...What's this?" she inquired, curiously fascinated by what appeared to be a small cloth pouch.

"Well, after hearing _that_...I don't know if you'll like it anymore, but..." His words trailed off into a quaint little laugh as he nodded toward the item. "Go ahead. Take a look."

Her piquing curiosity had taken her smile as she kept her keen gaze on him while she reached her hand for the pouch. She could discern clearly by the glint in his eyes that he'd enjoyed playing the aloof this time, wearing only the masked, secretive smile meant for her to read and decipher.

Holding the small pouch in her hands, she noted how raw it'd felt, quite natural to the touch, undyed, and of a looser weave than those seen in most garments. As she delicately pulled its drawstring closure open, she noted also how its visible stitching had lacked the tightened, mechanical uniformity of the mass-produced kind. Doubtlessly, this quaint little purse had been a hand-crafted item—something of an uncommon rarity found only in the humblest corners of the galaxy. Corners such as _this_ place.

She held the pouch open to pour its contents into her hand, seeing a curious little bundled cord fall out onto her palm. Upon closer inspection, she'd noted that the plaited twine had been dappled by what appeared to be tiny, dried purple flowers. The tender glow of a kindling smile upon Lana's lips then beheld her quick realization of what these little flecks of petals had been.

_Lavenders._

"This...rickety old lady vending along the streets the other day—she was making all these little things. Nothing fancy," Theron spoke with a shrug, "but fun stuff you don't see every day."

His words had very nearly passed over her as she marveled at the tiny item in her hand. Setting the pouch down, she took hold of the cord by one end. Once it unraveled to its full length, she realized what the little trinket appeared to be.

"A necklace?" she murmured in a bare voice.

Taking both ends in each hand, she held it up in front of her for a better view. Her eyes traced the twists of the cord to see that the little stems of the dried lavenders had been meticulously woven into its braids, and at its center, the stippling flowers came to a small, hanging cluster of the tiny mottled bells. 

"I don't know. Thought it'd make a nice little souvenir," he mused dismissively. "I figure you don't really wear that kind of—"

"—It's _beautiful_ , Theron," she whispered in the barest breath.

As she slowly turned her eyes back to him, he'd been swept by the sweet, dawning radiance of her gentle countenance, a canvas painted in full by the vibrance of such heartfelt affection.

" _Yeah_...? You think so?"

Lana then proceeded to try it on, bringing the braided cord around her neck.

"Here, let me—" Theron quickly offered as he rose from his chair. 

Coming around behind her, he first brushed her golden locks away from the nape of her neck. The closure on the necklace had been a simple loop and knot, but the short tresses of her hair continued to get in the way as his fingers idled with the ends in his grasp, prompting her to then reach with her own hand to offer assistance in holding her stray locks aside.

Lana remembered the first time she'd felt how gentle Theron's touch could be, how surprising it'd been to feel the profound tenderness his rough-hewn hands had been capable of. Once she'd memorized the sensation, she'd grown so inherently receptive to his every slightest gesture, his every brush and stroke of the hands. She'd felt just then, how his fingers had lingered a moment longer than needed, as though he'd meant to take his liberties in allowing them to roam as they pleased. Though she had not yet spoken the words, Lana had been exclusively permissive of this small indulgence, reserved only and entirely for him.

"There."

And just like that, she'd felt the chilled air fill the void where his hands had lain against her flesh just moments ago. It'd felt thoroughly far more unsatisfying than her being had been conditioned to expect. This had been the _worst_ kind of waiting game—one that she'd been determined not to forfeit.

Against the currents of her coursing blood ushered along by her restive heart, the surface of her being remained deceivingly still by her indomitable discipline—like the immutable facade that hid beneath it the roiling furnaces at the core of all animate earths. _Her_ facade had come in the form of her most unassuming little smile. 

Lana peered downward to steal a glance at the adoring little flowers hanging at the necklace's end, only to realize that it'd fallen just too short around her neck for her eyes to see. Taking the cluster between her fingers, she brought it close to her nose for a curious whiff, still able to smell a hint of the dried lavenders' scent. With a resigned laugh, she let the flowers hang again and peered over her shoulder toward Theron, who remained hovering at her back.

"How does it look?" she asked with a gentle touch of humor.

He'd fallen silent as he watched her, amused by how enamored she appeared to be with such a simple thing. She'd worn the little braided cord, regarding it as though it'd been the most prized Krayt pearl treasure in all the galaxy.

Theron smiled with a playful gaze to match her own.

"Better than I pictured."

"I don't have a mirror. I wish I could see," she mused lamentably as her eyes erroneously attempted to peer down at it again.

"This was so thoughtful of you," she uttered quietly in her growing reticence. So touched she'd been by his unprompted, unexpected gesture, that she began to feel the stinging vestiges of remorse welling within her heart.

"I'm afraid I...don't have a single thing for _you_..."

"Well then," Theron's voice grew heavy with an indicative undertone. He drifted closer toward her with a light of mischief upon his gaze. "How about a _dinner_?"

He'd wasted no time in seizing the opportune moment to remind her that he hadn't forgotten. The very idea had been something he'd taken to the very first moment they'd played at their game of fiction. While it truly hadn't been, it seemed so long ago when they'd last spoken of it, and he felt it had now been long overdue.

In all honesty, Lana did not expect him to mention the matter again—that it'd been just a passing indulgent thought she'd harbored in the farthest reaches of her imaginings. After all, there'd been so little time between their chance meetings to spend outside of the pertinent political affairs that seemed to ceaselessly require their attentions. Despite the impediment of odds and probabilities that always obstructed their shared path, the very idea of it uplifted her heart with such a thrill.

Falling back into the opposing roles within their courting games, Lana responded with a wily gleam.

"So is _that_ what this is about?" she teased in a drawl of a voice. "One kindness in return for _another_?"

She watched with a skeptical little smile as he made his way around her chair. Once he came to a stop before her, hovering forward with his hands propped against the armrests, their matching, suggestive gazes met at the empty center that separated them only by inches apart.

"That's rather disingenuous, Agent Shan," she whispered to him.

Theron's grin only gained in its daring edge by her words. "Oh, yeah?"

Instead of shying away beneath his pressing gaze, Lana raised her own even higher. "So, I am to treat you to a dinner of your choice?" 

The cynical jest had been her elusive bid to ask him where he'd preferred to dine, to which Theron countered with his own skillfully crafted play.

"Well, you _can_ ," he shrugged with pretended disinterest. "But I was thinking more... _you_ naming some place." Theron's breaths quieted with every closer stroke he'd taken toward her. "And...I'll see about checking it out myself one night. Then maybe...if you could come along and keep me company, we can call it square."

Lana glanced away as she pretended to dwell on his proposed idea.

"That sounds fair, I suppose."

In the passing seconds, their mirrored smiles no longer guarded their esoteric, unspoken secrets. When Theron closed the distance between them, their eyes eased shut. Lana felt his brow press against her own and smiled. She'd then felt the gentle wind of his exhaling breaths once their noses brushed and sweetly laughed. And gradually, she then felt his nearing lips in their playful attempt to catch her own.

_This_ , she gleefully denied him still. 

Her expression cracked into a playful little grimace as she shied away from every advancing movement he'd taken to draw ever closer, until finally, she turned away completely to refuse him even the barest kiss. As he faltered forward, taken unexpectedly by her unforgiving tease, his smile then crumpled to a humorous little sulk. Upon his realization of what her deliberate intent had been, he let his head hang as he followed her airy giggles with his own droll laughter.

When he raised his gaze to her again, it'd been graced by her most innocent, sheepish little smile, wholly indescribable in its endearing charm to his eyes. Her response to his expectant glance had been a mere, gentle shake of the head.

Theron's look gained in its comical glint as he stared dubiously at her in the familiar wryness so characteristic of his expressions. 

"So, you're gonna be like _that_ , huh?"

The playful candor in her eyes only sharpened before she answered next with a silent nod.

Releasing a breath of resigned laughter, Theron then brushed his hand along the side of her face. He urged her close with a delicate touch, content with a kiss on the cheek instead—a small gesture Lana seemed to allow him.

"Perfectly fine with me."

In the passing moment of their exchanged, tender glances, he'd been first to stir, drawing away as he straightened himself to stand upright again.

"All right. Wanna get going?" he suggested, offering her his hand to take.

Slipping her palm flat against his, she traced her smaller fingers along those of his own and closed them tightly around them. At the prompt of her wordless cue, he then gently guided her to her feet by their entwined hands.

Theron took a brief moment to fetch some of his belongings left at the foot of his chair, only to catch a glimpse of Lana as he turned around again, tugging at her thick cardigan as she pulled it tighter around herself.

"Hey, you getting cold there?"

Having only done so spontaneously, Lana blinked in her pause upon hearing his seemingly offhanded question. Only realizing in the trailing moment what he'd meant, she then eased her grasp from the sweater's knitted cloth to quickly straighten it back out.

"Oh... No, I'm fine. Perhaps...just a bit chilly," she answered in a haze. Banishing away the lingering traces of the day's residual thoughts, she sighed and gave a half-minded, inward little laugh. 

"But it's hardly anything I haven't endured before."

Despite her nonchalant dismissal, Theron graciously proceeded to remove his own jacket anyway. He recalled in passing the last time he'd done this. That time, she'd been sound asleep, and there'd been no denying the cold that had seized her small, shivering frame then. There was no reason for her to endure any slightest discomfort _now_ , so he came to her side, meaning to offer the added layer as he held the garment open to drape over her shoulders.

"Theron, no—please. It's all right," Lana kindly stopped him when she noted his intentions. "You should put it back on before _you_ get cold."

"Are you sure?"

She offered him a sweet nod.

"I've never quite been fond of any manner of cold weather," she softly remarked with the light of an assuring glance, "that's all."

Since she would not accept this gesture, he'd meant to offer her another. Pulling his jacket back on, he then proceeded to wrap his arm around her waist, drawing her closer to his side.

"Warm enough, now?" Theron playfully murmured. He'd figured that the comforts he could offer by his physical presence had been something she preferred anyway.

As she eased against him, she nestled herself restfully into the crook of his arm, soundly laying her head against his shoulder. 

Encircled tightly within her embrace, Lana held her greatest fortune in her own two arms, resolving to _never_ let him slip away from her. What he'd offered her had been beyond mere warmth, she knew. His presence to her had been her assurance—a _promise_. 

His hand held entwined with her own had been the reminder that she did not walk among a world of ghosts. 

"I think this shall suffice."

Lana's song of laughter had come upon her gentlest breaths, audible only to Theron's ears. How well she had fit within the space beside him, her tender thoughts mused as she held him tighter, while she herself remained perfectly placed within the frame of his own hold. 

In his arms, the _cold_ had no longer bothered her, as though his mere presence had been enough to ward away the very winter itself. And with it, all the lingering shadows that dwelled in its wake. Their voices within her memories grew silent, finally leaving her in peace to walk the lines toward her own horizon that lied opposite of the veil, loosening her from the tethers which had still remained mortally bound within their hands.

But they were all ghosts now. All spectres behind the painted veil. All the interlocking pieces of herself that she'd thought were long lost, whittled away by time. Though as she would come to learn—these shards were nothing like the short-lived, transient elements that composed the observable world. By the nature of the universe in which they existed, such corporeal things one could _touch_ were impermanent. But too often, it'd been forgotten that there had also existed a discarnate aspect of the very same universe. Its second face—the metaphysical realm by which all such dimensions of the self could and _had_ existed. Lana had peered through them, through the layers of the veil. Each its own shade. Each its own design, its own substance. She'd peered through and had seen on its other side the eyes of all her ghosts. 

They had all become remnants of her now. All the fragments of the stained glass that composed the images illuminated by the glowing light behind it. Though, as she still needed to remind herself, they had all been but spectres—no longer living, no longer breathing. They ceased to evolve the moment they'd become a part of her. Hardly anything beyond a still-frame. A vignette. Whatever space they'd occupied in her being would never shift or change. Their allotted time in the universe had already passed. 

And there'd been so _many_ of them.

Some faces she'd recognized better than others. Some with names. Others without. Those with voices as well as the silent ones.

She'd peered into the face of each and every one of them. Once she'd _seen_ , she'd come to realize that in all the years she'd thought them long forgotten, they'd been staring right back through the layers. They had all been her distant, silent sentinels—constant and ever-vigilant in their watch.

But _Theron_ was not. When she reached for his hand, he would grasp it. When she called to him, he would respond. The warmth she'd felt from his presence was not an _imprint_ of the feeling. It had been the true, burning fires that encompassed her entire being within its very cradle. Once she'd stepped in front of it, she swore to _never_ let it extinguish. As long as she continued to walk her side of the veil, she determined never to lose him to the other beyond it. Never would she see him walk among the spectres. Never would she let his hand slip out of reach from her own. 

_Never._

Her thoughts, now, did not care to wonder where their trail led next, and she contented herself to follow wherever Theron's lead ushered them. It did not matter where. It did not matter how long their journey would endure. The constant certainty of his coexistent presence by her own had been all she required to go forth into the universe. They may tread along the boundaries and even touch the very edge of the veil between the worlds—it mattered not to Lana, for as long as she walked hand in hand with Theron, there had been _nothing_ left about her spectres to fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omigosh! What’s it been…like over two months? :D Sorry for such a long wait, and it only seems to get longer in between chapters now, lol. But I’m sure this one was stuffed with enough content to fill the time! ^_^ I do hope it hasn’t been so strange to have updates coming less frequently in such _huge_ chunks. A lot of it’s got to do with my weird thinking process. I tend to not come across ideas linearly a lot of the time, and sometimes they just keep compiling before I can catch up in the writing! So it doesn't _quite_ always pan out when I try to make regular and moderately sized updates...
> 
> There was a bit of a struggle for me this time with trying to keep some parts cohesive and clear. Like with her little teenage-existential-crisis episode there, lol. The really reflective parts like those were particularly fun to write, but also a bit of a challenge to keep the stuff going through Lana’s mind relevant with the things going on around her at some parts. I hope the structure and the parallel lines of this chapter's stories hadn't been too strange to follow. It's definitely something new I'd been playing a lot more with. 
> 
> As always, I hope you guys are still enjoying it! :D Originally, I hadn’t thought this chapter would be very big at all, but the more I kind of gave some thought about Lana and the possibilities behind her backstory, the more the ideas just sort of came.
> 
> I’ve always been fascinated with the story behind her, since they've given us relatively so little compared to Theron. In some ways, I think it makes me a liiiittle more inclined to give her just a bit more attention at some parts, lol. It's just Theron's got so much established for him already in the book and graphic novel, which includes a whole cast of people he's also associated with, and we don't even know half as much about her. And I did fudge around with the timeline a taaad, considering some of the clues they’d given through the canon material, but all of it is so indefinite anyway…so, bleh? 
> 
> Anyway... Thank you, everyone, who's been following along with the read! Please feel free to leave kudos or comments! ^_^


	7. Cradle of the Horizon (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaay...it's here! Gosh, it's been _sooo_ long, I'm definitely excited for this update! ^_^ And once again, I am SO sorry for the super-duper long wait... I'm slow, I'm _slooowwwww_... 
> 
> Anyway, so I'm trying something a little different this time. There'll be a Part II coming up to conclude this chapter. At the suggestion of some advice received (and...also for my sanity in the revision process), I broke this one into two parts. The second's already been mostly written, so no worries—it won't take another four months to go out, I promise, haha. Just need another week or two for finishing touches, hang tight! In the meantime, hope you guys enjoy this first chunk! :D

** Cradle of the Horizon **

**_-Part I-_ **

 

No matter how deceptively calm the peace that lulled them to slumber had been, the hours they'd shared that night were not long. But it had not been any passing disturbance from beyond the small confines of their private space, nor had it been any found within the deepest reaches of their unquelled hearts that had awakened them from their sleep.

It'd been as though the simple _knowing_ had been enough. That their allotted time together had been drawing to a close. There'd simply been something that felt inherently _wrong_ about sleeping the rest of it away, no matter how tempting the permissive world of their dreams could be. There would be time enough to dwell within their dreams, their hearts knew. But now was not it. Their time now was limited, and the realm of dreams was no substitute for the waking reality they would always find themselves descending back to.

They'd spoken of dreams the previous night, she remembered. And she'd let herself fall to sleep upon a most divine reverie.

_A reverie? No. It wasn't._

It was real. Their embrace was real. Their _kiss_ was real.

_Yes, that's right._

There were no dreams she recalled from the previous night. Only slumber. Then the morning after. It would seem that her dreams were no longer necessary once the very visions they'd imparted had come to manifest in their shared reality. How many instances she'd seen _him_ in the distance of her dreams—and now, he'd come within reach, come into her own arms. She'd known it was no reverie when she awakened this time to find that he had not gone with the passing night's slumber.

Once they'd risen from bed, they'd taken their time readying themselves for the coming day—time spent in mutual silence. There'd been enough words shared between them in the previous night. None seemed to be necessary in this following dawn.

Lana lingered in the small dormitory, her presence still anchored by her heart's reluctance to leave it just yet. Even after a sound night's rest, it would seem that her eyes still had not replenished their spent tears. They'd felt raw from dryness when she blinked and rubbed them. Wearied and worn by the morning, her shuffling feet still managed to lead her the scant paces across the room toward the small desk by the door. Here, her blind hands searched for her belongings left in this corner from the previous night.

The first contact her fingers met was with chilled steel. Lana opened her eyes to see the newly bestowed lightsaber hilt lain across the glass surface—Master Ngani Zho's lightsaber.

As she allowed her gaze to rest upon Theron's cherished gift to her, her sight softened until they regained focus. Her fingers gently took hold, wrapping the precious item within their grasp until it laid within her small palm. Lana traced over the silhouette of its details with her thumb. 

How modest it'd been. How unassuming. How _pure_. The culmination of Theron's innermost, plainspoken sentiments—held in the palm of her hand. The very idea brought upon her lips the gentlest wisp of a smile. A glimmer of the bliss she'd known innately such a small simplicity as this had heralded for her.

Lana's hands then reached for her jacket, set draped over the back of the desk's chair. She proceeded to redress herself, absent of mind as she slipped the garment on one sleeve at a time. It'd been then when her eyes glimpsed it. The heartrending correspondence she'd brought with her had slipped from its pocket once the garment was disturbed. Her eyes stilled over the paper, momentarily forgotten over the course of the night's slumber until it'd fallen once again back within her sights. Tragedy and its aftermath were always consummately opportune, it would seem.

Like an unbreakable chain, it'd bound and drawn her lower, deeper into the chasm that she'd only begun to scrape her way back out from. Her fingers had grown raw and bloodied, yet this relentless shadow within her heart knew no mercy, offered no reprieve. As complacent as she'd willed herself to believe she had become, Lana inevitably found herself bending beneath the weight born by her still heavy heart. Lower it'd taken her, beckoning her hand to reach and reach, drawing her like an enraptured moth to its glowing demise.

She bent to pick the folded piece of paper up from her feet, and once her fingers grasped it, she'd felt the world grow cold all around her. By a single touch, it'd all gone barren once again. The only thing left within sight, the only lingering other that existed beside her was the undying sorrow.

How beautifully abject she'd appeared in Theron's eyes. Her luminescent sadness. Her immaculate despair. The profundity of how their lines had come to be so entangled as they were—her heartbreak was now his own. Indistinguishable. _Inseparable._

Like the moth, he too, followed the spellbinding light. He'd followed her blinding brilliance, led across the waking trail of the very same steps she'd taken. He came to the light—came to _her_ —and took it all into his arms. He cared not if he would burn trying to embrace it.

Lana froze at the outsider's touch, serving only to be yet another poignant reminder that the grief remained. The only consolation to be had lied in the pleasured distractions found in the elusive warmth he'd offered within those very same arms. And even then, it'd been only fleeting. 

_No._

The warmth _was_ there. It'd been real. The hearth was _real_.

How she'd willed herself to draw from its consummate fires once again. A vain attempt, as it would seem that none of its glow could reach her now.

Lana's eyes slowly eased shut once she'd felt the pressure welling behind them, the entire bearing of her countenance crumbling at its foundations. The deeper she'd sunken, the stronger Theron's arms encircled around her. Witnessing her despair, he'd come to take hold of her and keep her taut. To keep the grief from pulling her under. Just when she'd believed the tears to have run completely dry, she felt their bitter, burning sting returning beneath her eyelids once again.

Theron locked his arms tightly around her small frame, as though moved by the unexplainable dread that she would surely fall if he'd loosened his hold just enough for her to slip away. He feared not knowing how much _enough_ had been. So he dared only to hold tighter. Enough to smother. Enough to suffocate. Enough to _burn_.

He felt her hands stir, locked beneath the vise of his binding arms held crossed over them. The letter remained in her grasp, crumpled between her clenching fingers drawn close to her heart. He'd felt with its every passing beat how much further she'd languished. But Theron did not permit it. He would cling to her and hold her strong and high until she could stand on her own two feet again. Or he would plummet with her straight into the abyss if that had indeed been where she was bound, inseparable as they now stood.

Even while Lana's eyes could not open, he waited until they no longer burned. Even as her spirit crumbled and her body failed, he refused to let go. With knowing Lana, Theron had found and learned the eternal patience that seemed so innate of her. He'd learned to be understanding, to be delicate when needed, knowing that it'd been the same, far-reaching curve that she, too, had found herself testing time and time again.

In a most gentle shift, he allowed himself to envelop her, fitting her against his own softening silhouette—a counterbalance to her faltering frame. He let his face ease into the hollow of her neck until his nose and his lips met her skin. Only upon his first breath drawing her in did he, at last, feel her slowly ease herself by his tender lead. If this moment had not been so ethereally lachrymose, he'd have been washed away by the profound, tidal bliss welling within his very heart. Such a bounty it had been to hold within his arms. So considerable, that it'd even threatened to overwhelm.

Lana took a quiet, calming breath in a bid to expel the last of the lingering heartache from her being. She felt Theron's lips stir against her flesh before his voice bore through the pristine silence.

" _Don't._ "

It sounded hardly a hush above a whisper, but he'd lingered close enough for her ears to discern the spoken word. His pair of hands then roamed in search of hers. Once they'd found them, he gently coaxed her fingers apart, prying from them the rumpled letter still clutched in between them. It did not take much to do so, for the touch of his hands alone seemed enough to ease her entire being. 

As soon as he'd claimed the parchment from her grasp, Theron wasted no time in discarding the dreadful memento entirely. It'd been enough for the very memory already evoked by its contents to dampen her heart. He saw no need for the written words to remain—no less a scar upon her than those already born on her flesh.

By his simple, tender command, Lana found the resolve to ward away the tears. No, she refused to allow them. She had shown enough of them the previous night. 

Lana felt him draw in a great, sharpened breath as his lips brushed against her flesh where they'd touched. Then the warmth came forth along the flow of his exhale, kissing her skin almost as tenderly as his lips had. 

_Almighty Force_... His touch. His _kiss_. 

It would seem that would be all that was required to quell her ailing heart. But now there remained another lingering sorrow, one nearly eclipsed by the grief that had stricken her so. Where the grief had gone, the whole of their shared lament now filled its void.

"Do you really have to go?" Theron murmured to her, his whispered voice only audible because she'd stood so close, held tightly within his embrace.

The longing in Theron's voice had been enough to draw her eyes. Slowly, she loosened herself from the cradle of his arms to turn around. She shifted until she stood facing him, laying her gaze upon his own. As she let her gentle hands rest on either side of his face, his own found their place, fitted to the curve of her back.

Lana smiled at what her eyes could see. They'd become two reflected mirrors, each revealing yet another layer—another world within a world into infinity. They would look, they would observe, and they would never quite glimpse every detail plain to the eyes. But the whole of the image had been clear, and that had been the heart of what their sights sought within one another. 

When the eyes expanded the field of vision, one could discern that the masterpiece of the entirety had been but a thing of simplicity, constructed upon the most vibrant and complex pieces, all incomprehensible and inconsequential on their own. Only when fitted together did the vision become whole. And their eyes had glimpsed enough to know that little else mattered beyond this. The pure _simplicity_ to be found within but a single vision. It'd been almost breathtaking to behold.

It would be at the slightest guidance of Lana's small hands that compelled Theron closer. It had not been sympathy that moved them. There had been no vestiges of lament, no trace of uncertainty, nor had there been a spindling thread of any lingering hesitation. When their lips came together this time, there had only been _clarity_. 

He first felt the reluctance in her hands when she touched him—her reluctance to let go. He'd felt it even more so in her lips when they kissed. Like a promise of assurance, he'd lingered even as they drew apart. He pressed his brow against hers. Let the stippled bristles of his unshaven face tickle her fair skin. Only when he'd felt the contours of her face stir towards a knowing smile had he been content. Their noses brushed. Then their lips upon another kiss in sweet succession.

Theron felt her fingers stir where they'd rested along his face. Felt her thumb's caress right beneath his eye. Its trail traced over the faint scar that still remained from the previous year, though he was nearly certain she neither noticed, nor remembered that she'd been the indirect cause of the wound received that had left it. The very thought had grown comical in his memory, and it would have even made him laugh if he hadn't been so blissfully distracted by her hands, so enchantingly tender in their touch.

"We'll see each other again, Theron."

The whisper of her voice had been even more disarming.

She'd intended it to be akin to a promise, equal to those he'd sung with such exultant sincerity in the previous night between their shared stories. Even if fate had ordained that their paths would cease to cross again once she parted with him, she would defy the law of the universe itself in search of some means to fulfill this promise.

Lana's lament still showed in her gaze as she slipped from Theron's arms, though it had not been over their parting. Indeed, she _would_ see him again. What had shrouded her heart had been the bittersweet taste of the realization—of how _brief_ their time together truly had been. She resolved, then, to make the most of their next encounter to come. 

Already, he'd felt the void of her absence once she left his embrace, and it had only grown with every step she'd taken toward his door. How it ached to see her go. He watched her draw to a pause at its threshold, his eyes taking in the sight of her parting smile. Never failing in its spell, it compelled his own countenance to mirror it. 

And like air, she'd drifted away soundlessly out of his sight.

Departures.

They were never an easy matter. Never for _them_. How many times they had faced one another in departure by then. Between them both, neither could count the moments. Yet within the vestiges of their collective memory, each of them could always be recalled with such clarity. While there'd been nothing between their shared moments that could seem to be entirely quantifiable, the fully rendered image of the whole remained clear in their sights. It remained clear and _vast_ —just as it appeared when one's eyes were cast upon the horizon of any world's emerging dawn.

And to consider that there remained, always, ever more beyond the farthest line the eyes _could_ glimpse.

How Theron Shan spent his days, his hours, his _minutes_ pondering such reaches so far from the perceivable bounds. How staggering they'd become at times, when he contemplated the very visions in his most solitary thoughts. How he would consider it all—consider the universe he _couldn't_ see.

He would allow his mind to ponder these thoughts in his found solitude. Allow it to wander and dwell in the distance until it'd all become simply inconceivable. And it'd been among the vastness he'd found himself stumbling upon time and time again that he could bring himself to envision with such profound purity the things his eyes _could_ see.

Just as the light and its accompanying shadow cast existed as polar composites complementing one another, it'd been the vast and distant unknowns that gave distinction to that which stood _most_ clear within sight.

Such contradictions had always been a curious thing to Theron. Although, he'd come to learn now, that all within the universal bounds were very much matters of simple _relativity_. By what other nature could such a world possibly exist, after all? Definition. Identity. _Purpose_. No single idea could possibly be without the coexistence of the separates to give them shape. To give them _life_.

And the lines found between the coexistent parts themselves—they were _not_ boundaries that kept the separates apart. No. Theron had come to know better now. Like any composite vision the eyes could perceive, the lines had merely been _one_ element within the composition. Just as with the relative nature of _color_ —yet another of the many elements—lines had only been a marker. One that gave form to the abstract, weaving together all the individual parts within the masterpiece. They'd been the unequivocal proof that all things, indeed, were bound by universal coexistence. 

This had been the day he could recall, when he'd begun to ponder on these bounds. When he'd turned his eyes outward towards the universe to glimpse the whole of it. To see the light as well the darkness upon which it'd illuminated—just as a rising sun upon the horizon gave color to the blackened sky. 

 

* * *

 

There'd only been few occasions when time permitted Theron a casual outing with the Supreme Commander. Time for making up lost grounds with his father. Since the man rarely ever left his station in the heart of the Republic capital, it'd only ever been during Theron's returns from abroad when he could invite his son for dinners such as this.

As usual, Theron had kept him waiting before he'd finally appeared at the entrance of the restaurant. If it had been any manner of official business, the punctual Commander Jace Malcolm would have been sorely displeased, but he'd learned to expect this habit of Agent Theron Shan now. Even on official meetings. This time, however, he seemed to have caught his son in between other plans, as he'd seemed tentative about confirming a particular time and place within the sparse window available to reserve for him. But he could spare some forgiveness for the agent, recognizing the importance of any engagement he may have held some prior obligations to.

"Sorry. Got held up," Theron excused himself casually as he took his seat across from his father.

"What else is new?" he remarked in an amused laugh.

"Yeah, just...had to shuffle some things around and make a few calls," he murmured.

Jace handed the menu he'd been reserving for him. "I ordered already."

Just as Theron reached to take it, his eyes spotted the generous bottle of liquor sitting close to the commander's glass on the opposite end of the table. 

" _Apparently_ ," he noted wryly. 

Opening the menu, he quickly began perusing the selection. "Anyway, I had to kind of run down here. Can't really stay for too long, so I'm just going to order something small."

"Yeah?" the older man murmured with mild interest before taking a sip of his drink. "You have plans later?"

Pausing as he thumbed through the pages of the menu, Theron briefly glanced up at his father. "Uh, yeah. Just...kicking back with one of the other agents."

"Balkar?" It'd hardly been a guess for the commander, having grown familiar with their camaraderie through enough conversations.

Theron gave a flash of a grin. "Yeah."

Jace then held up the liquor bottle with an inquisitive nod, a silent offer to his son.

"No, thanks," he declined, shaking his head. "Balkar's gonna want to drink. Wouldn't last too long if I get a head start," he laughed.

"Suit yourself," the Commander shrugged as he set the bottle back down.

Once the waiter arrived to take his order, Theron took a moment to consider his choice before closing his menu.

"You know, I think I'll just go with the house appetizer. Whatever that is."

"Will that be all for you?" the man inquired almost indifferently, his eyes never once leaving the small order pad he busied himself with.

"That's all."

With a curt nod, the waiter tucked the menu beneath his arm before gliding off onto his next task.

Theron shared a glance with his father, perking his brows up in amusement. "Efficiency over service, I see."

Rumbling in a low-toned laughter, Jace refilled his cup with more of his amber drink. As he set the bottle down again, his fingers lingered where they grasped his glass cup. 

"So, for real this time," he began, raising his eyes to Theron, "what's new?"

Though he'd known to expect this sort of question from his father every time by now, it never seemed to fail in bringing his thoughts to a stall. Always, he found himself caught on a pause just to consider how to respond. Though it'd only ever been a simple question. All Jace cared to know was what new thing, no matter how trivial, had been going on in his son's life at the moment— _small steps_. 

And small steps were all Theron ever cared to take going about answering questions like these.

Raising his glass for another sip, the commander awaited his response. He'd expected some terse, thoroughly smart-assed remark out of him, as had been characteristic of Agent Shan whenever posed with even the mildest question of any personal nature. In all honesty, Jace had only thought to ask out of habit.

There'd been something about the manner Theron considered his inward thoughts at that moment that drew his curious eyes. His son's idle gaze seemed fixated on his drumming fingers along the table's surface, a strange bout of abstraction he'd rarely ever seen of him.

A wayward sentiment occupying the depths of Theron's innermost thoughts had seemed to draw some compelling desire within him to make some passing mention of it. As though to confirm its almost ephemeral existence, lingering somewhere within his being. Before he could further evaluate the words he meant to speak, they had come fluttering forth, voiced aloud quicker than his near-absent mind could process.

"I, uh...I met someone." Theron almost gave a dismissive little shrug as he voiced this.

Jace had been taken by the very notion that his son simply had no understanding of how arresting his simple statement had been. Stilled by the poignant impact of the merest mention of this, his gaze fell on Theron with the full weight of an almost comical stupor.

"...No kidding?" He'd hardly been able to utter the remark aloud in spite of both his crippling astonishment and quiet joy. 

A small part of this seasoned soldier found it impossible to resist the guileless caprice that swelled in his heart—that his son had felt enough comfort to voluntarily share this so openly. He _smiled_. For his own genuine amusement and for the sentiment of Theron's happiness.

As though reserving the moment to process what he'd just said, Theron was slow to nod. His affirming smile followed once he considered the verity of what he'd just shared.

" _Yeah_."

The old commander gave a breath of a laugh, still caught up in his own disbelief. "So? When are you going to bring your special friend to one of these things?" he questioned blithely, partly to tease.

"Yeah, we're not even... _close_ to that yet," Theron snorted in dismissal.

Holding his hands open before him, Jace smiled with an steady nod to assure him of his respectful intent.

"Okay, understandable. Well...you got a picture, at least? Show me _something_."

Theron shook his head, grinning inwardly in his mild amusement of his father's unrelenting interest.

"Nah, she... She's got a thing about pictures," he mused ambiguously.

With a resigned shrug, the commander pressed on with his expectant gaze. Of course his son would mention all of this and leave him nothing satisfying to take from any of it.

"So, you go and drop a bomb like that on me, and you won't even tell me anything?"

Theron's sharp smile then grew in its teeming mischief. "Yeah, and it's still _nothing_ compared to the one you dropped on _me_ , old man—in case you forgot." 

He never could forget that night. When the commander had invited him to his apartment for some hard drinks before divulging the truth behind their shared relation. 

"Tit for tat."

In thorough acknowledgement of his point, Jace gave a reserved laugh and nodded his forfeiture.

As the two men simmered from the height of their shared humor, Theron once again grew silent as he fell into his own pensive traces of thought while Jace took another sip from his glass.

"Well she's... She's really sweet."

Peering up from his drink, Jace's eyes searched Theron's distant expression. He watched how his son's gaze seemed to float out of focus as he stared down at his casually folded hands over the tabletop. Theron was quite at ease as far as his discerning eyes could tell. He sat with an arm draped listlessly along the edge of the table while the rest of his frame reclined in leisured repose into the very back of his chair. He remained silent, allowing his son to resume his trailing thought.

"And smart," Theron added with a broadened smile. "Like... _insultingly_ smart. You know— _don't-tease-her-'cause-she'll-get-you-back-way-worse-with-just-her-words_ 'smart.'"

"Well, no one likes a _dull_ girl," Jace joked with a snicker. His remark drew Theron's gaze back, prompting him to soften his own in an earnest light. He wanted to hear more. "What's she look like?"

" _Beautiful_."

Jace read far more beneath the simple word in the awe of his son's smile. He remembered what it was like—to recall so tenderly the memory of an unforgettable woman.

"Yeah?" he asked in a breath of such endearment.

Within the light of fondness so clearly shown in Theron's countenance, a shade of lament seemed to dim its brilliance as his eyes drifted away again. "A lot more than she gives herself credit for."

"What matters is she's a _nice_ girl, right?"

"The nicest I've ever known."

Though he'd only truly known his son for some brief years, there'd existed the unspeakable compulsion within his store of emotions to see _more_ of this— _more_ of the unblemished affluence, of the simplicity and the beatitude. Of the plain and pure _bliss_ Theron's heart had been capable of. For all that he and his son's mother had never known, for all they could have had, having grasped it all but only briefly in their shared time, Jace had found himself confounded by the potence of these precious sentiments, even if only vicariously touched by their merest vestiges.

In the brief time he had known Theron, he'd never seen him come even close to this. To witness such inextinguishable warmth brought by this light, he'd known by certain intuition that it had been _genuine_. Seeing the radiance of his son's brimming and very visible heart heralded the rare and gentle smile that Jace's countenance had not worn in long years. 

So consuming had it been upon his aged, tempered being that it'd even stirred the very tips of his fingers to loosen their disciplined grasp around the half-emptied glass that had become such familiar company to him.

"Well," he murmured as his gaze lowered, drifting out of any lingering focus they'd held, "I hope I get a chance to meet her someday." He blinked upon his mind's returning presence, directing his attention in full regard back to his son. "If you'd like that."

Easing into a distant, fond smile of his own, Theron nodded. "Yeah. Maybe."

For a passing moment, he'd played at a lingering thought held at the tip of his tongue. There'd been _more_ Theron seemed compelled to say, more remaining to enlighten his father about. Though there'd been a welling desire in his heart to speak further, he couldn't ignore the persistent cloud of doubt that held these thoughts back in its haze. Before he could even bring himself to voice anything beyond what had already been said, the abrupt arrival of the same aloof server extinguished what words had been left hanging on his breath.

"I've got a plate," the man spoke as he set the full dish down before Jace. He then presented the smaller item to Theron. "And an appetizer. Enjoy." Just as quickly as he'd arrived, the server glided away and out of sight once again.

"Finally," Jace mumbled in a brush of wry humor. "If I'd known all you were getting was _that_ , I wouldn't have waited," he chuckled as he collected his silverware.

Theron smirked, poking at his own plate. He skewered what appeared to be some kind of fried dumpling with his fork and popped it into his mouth before casually bringing his eyes forward across the table. His eyes then caught a glimpse of the Commander generously refilling his glass with the amber drink again, certain that the cup hadn't even been empty yet when he'd done so. Theron's roving eyes then flitted briefly for a glance at the bottle he'd been pouring from, noting that its entirety had been nearly half-drained once he set it back down.

"What _is_ that stuff, by the way?" he dubiously asked, giving a curious nod toward the bottle.

"Huh?" Jace blinked in an addled pause. "Oh, uh...Corellian whiskey."

His answer drew another wily little smirk across his son's lips. Theron recalled a previous time when they'd sat at dinner like so. He'd been the one to order such a strong drink then.

"How many have you killed so far?" he questioned him with a wry glance. While he'd only commented in light jest, the amount his father seemed to have consumed had been somewhat astonishing.

Theron's offhanded remark caught him along an unexpected pause as he reflected on the progress of the evening so far.

"Well, enough to know this should probably be the last one for tonight," he exhaled, rather surprised that he still hadn't become too bogged down by the liquor quite yet. He'd grown particularly exasperated, as no amount seemed enough to ease the sinking exhaustion that refused to loosen its grip on his mind.

Setting down his utensils with a burdened groan, Jace ran both of his hands over his face. He let his stocky frame buckle beneath all the relentless weight on his shoulders, shaking his head as he blew a drawn, contemplative breath.

"Sorry," he murmured aloud half-mindedly. "Just...all these headaches dealing with those damn Imps. That's all." The wearied commander then gave a wry scoff of a laugh. "You know, for a bunch of assholes who'd been pretty okay with tearing apart our troops, they ask for a lot when they want something from you." 

He raised his tired gaze to meet Theron's, who now appeared convinced that his genuine attempt at keeping his waning spirits afloat had become utterly transparent now. "You'd think with the working armistice, things would finally quiet down a little on our end."

Jace's strikingly troubled disposition struck Theron at his core, tempering the hard-gained comfort of his contentedness in his father's presence. He paused only briefly before minding himself with shuffling around the morsels on his humble little plate.

"At least it's not them we're picking fights with now, right?" he mused in a bid to lighten the air once again.

The tentative silence between them now seemed to shift, growing heavy and stark. Jace's hands unconsciously searched for the full glass of whiskey, effortlessly wrapping around it without so much as a thought of regard. His eyes lowered to linger over the sloshing amber liquid within.

"I don't even know why we're wasting our resources on this. And now they're dragging _us_ into the problems they can barely take care of." Another derisive little snort sounded from his curling lips, full in the bitter resentment that had never quite left his being since the moment it'd taken root in his languished heart.

"Honestly," he blinked, waiting for Theron's gaze to meet his own. "This... This is just about the perfect time for them to toss up that white flag, you know? Do the galaxy a favor and go quietly. I don't see this dragging on for long."

There had been a time when Theron would have shared the Supreme Commander's indifference. Only months ago, Theron may well have regaled with ingratiating delight and generous spirits at the very sentiment. But it had been the course of those very months that had done much to shift his once unshakable resolve, his dogged hostility against the enemy he'd been raised and trained to subvert and overcome. Those valuable months had been the brief time it'd taken to undo his very understanding of the places—the _lines_ that defined the boundaries between sides. Between existences.

_'Boundaries.' No such thing, really, is there?_

What had been the crudely drawn machinations of mere mortals had been just as easily overturned and toppled, smeared and brushed away once the whole of the plane had been illuminated in his sights. There'd been only _one_ clear, complete view—and _one_ shared horizon within it. All the universal troubles only began once individual hands began to disassemble the space of the whole. How remarkably easy it'd been for one to lose sight of it all. Though Theron knew better now, bearing newly trained eyes that beheld an unobstructed, unobscured vision. A definitive line of sight that now encompassed a broadened perspective without diffusing at the peripheral bounds. And he'd known that this was no gift he'd come upon on his own. Like all the universe's beings, he'd always held the potential to see, but his simple eyes never truly _looked_ until beckoned to do so. Beckoned by the thread woven through his heart. The thread held by the small hands of a mere, single woman.

Theron stiffened at the sensation of the spindling chill that crept through his veins with every pulse of the heart, only to feel the cheerless candor of his father's words sear right through it. He willed himself to calmness in order to speak frankly, feeling his jaw tighten at the cusp of his fractious conscience.

"You _know_ if we don't help them tie up loose ends, their problems become our problems." The volume of his voice sank gravely as he spoke this bleak reminder to the Commander. "You've fought in more wars than I have. You know the kind of fallout that comes out of them."

Of course Jace knew. He'd _intimately_ known. But while his own vast experience acknowledged his son's reasoning, the steel-hearted man would, as ever, _still_ find difficulty in reconciling himself with this inarguable truth. In any matter concerning the Empire, Jace Malcom had never found any ease in relinquishing his deeply imprinted malcontent—one that he'd felt entitled to hold, that he'd felt had been pure and just.

A silent beat passed between father and son before the elder, at last, peeled away his eyes as he proceeded to down a great swig of the dark whiskey. His overwhelming gulp did not go unnoticed by his son's observant gaze. 

Theron's voice grew sedate upon the breath of his next earnest question. "You _do_ believe we're doing the right thing, right?"

Jace continued to wallow in his own silence, his pensive eyes still fixed on the glass clutched within his two hands. 

"It's one hell of a mess that's left behind after the fighting. In _any_ war," he finally spoke. He then gave a jaded, apathetic shrug. "We'll deal with it when it comes. We always have. Might as well let it take its course to do us some good first."

Furrowing his brows, Theron grew disheartened by his father's removed regard. "Don't you think that's a little cold?"

"Theron, they're falling apart from the inside out." Jace's voice regained its presence as he gave his sharp retort. "They think they're good at hiding it, but I know it. We _all_ do." He paused only for another sip from his glass. "Imps should be thankful Saresh and the Senate hasn't greenlit an entire operation to put them out of their misery already..."

"The people who are suffering the most are just civilians. _Everywhere_. Right now, they're just trying to protect their populace...same as what we'd do."

"And if the roles were swapped, what do you think _they'd_ have done for us, Theron?" The thickening gloom of his father's gaze had not wavered in the least. He'd questioned him in a plainspoken, almost chilling frankness.

Through his profound understanding, Theron had been painfully aware of what the commander intended to say. And it'd become clearer now, where his own moral sense began to diverge from his father's. He'd been reminded of the last time they'd encountered this crossing, of the opposing paths they'd decisively taken from it. And it had been Theron's own daring initiative that forced the commander's hand and averted the very catastrophe his father had been prepared to wreak upon their own populace. All to ensure a mere _chance_ at victory in but one fight against the Empire.

_'Theron, sometimes sacrifices have to be made.'_

That had been his reasoning. Justified, but _unacceptable_. 

"Doesn't matter—we're not them. We're the Republic. We do what's _right_ , don't we?"

And again, Jace would now see yet another haunting semblance of Theron's mother in him. He was not a man of misguided delusions, a thing he'd judged the Jedi of bearing more and more over the course of the long years. Jace had _tried_ to be a moral man. Protecting and preserving his people and his home had been the simple reasons behind his resolve. But he would not deny how dubitably _grey_ his moral bounds had grown to become. The extent of his resolve, the sacrifices he'd been willing to offer up for the sole sake of his purpose. Too often, such sacrifices would not be of his own, he _knew_. But indeed, there required such a price to even hope to resist an enemy as great as the Sith Empire, and Jace had willingly stepped into the pyre to accept this fate.

How clouded, how darkened his vision had become now, so many years and decades later. So long since he himself had been a young man like Theron. Though he'd come to grow spiteful of his own sullied conscience, he could not deny the inextinguishable _pride_ he'd felt to witness the undying will within his son's resolve. Theron's ideals were no different from his own, from his mother's, from the rest of the Republic's. And ever since his eyes bore witness to the small shining ray of light through the thickened clouds, he'd resolved never to look away. 

Though Jace had long come to accept how far he'd gone from the point of redemption, he continued to look towards the guiding light of his son's unflinching heart. To see that where he had faltered and grown stagnant, Theron would endure. And although he lamented that his own eyes could never view the universe with the clear conscience his son bore, he'd been content by the assurance that it would be upon _his_ hands and that of others like him that the future of the Republic would be entrusted.

And _yet_. 

How difficult absolution came to the heart of a man like Jace Malcom. For all of his pride, for all of his dignity and fidelity in Theron's virtue, his heart simply could not find the will to forget the decades of the galaxy's bloody feuds. To exonerate and forgive. To extend any true compassion across the bounds to those he'd fought for so long.

Jace's hands tightened around his glass as his mouth began to run dry, the internal turmoils exhausting the unspoken words before they ever left the breath of his lungs. He licked his parched lips before finally speaking his next trailing thought.

"You know, it's like... It's like they're infested with disease," his raw, diminishing voice uttered, "and they're using us like a band-aid. A crutch. When what they really need is a _cure_." Jace peered up from his glass with a firm, sobering look. "That cure isn't _us_ , Theron. For them...we're the means to an _end_."

The finality of his chosen and deliberate words tolled through Theron's conscience—a pithy, solemn canticle. Like a mockery of a eulogy reserved for the most disdained dead.

"...Just like they are to us."

Theron remembered when he'd once wallowed in the same resentment, the very same silent, boiling contempt that his father seemed so incapable of seeing beyond. It'd only taken the sparse experience—the single, epochal encounter seemingly designed by the movements of the universe itself—for him to begin realizing with certainty just how _wrong_ he'd been. Once enlightened, the knowing had become innate. With the clarity of his morals and his sense came, too, the newfound emotions woven so elementally within them. Never would he forget. Never would he stray. When Theron understood where and with _whom_ his heart lied, all relative things around him had aligned sublimely into perspective within the perennial masterpiece.

Jace's roving, ambivalent gaze found Theron's once again. When he looked into his son's countenance, he'd witnessed the grave, revealing disappointment. How _familiar_ it appeared. It'd been both uncanny and unsettling. In his son's eyes, the veteran read the culmination of his disillusionment, his disenchantment, his despondence. Though he'd uttered none of these words aloud, his gaze spoke volumes enough, and such lament had been utterly heartrending for a father to bear witnessing within his own child. Worse so that he'd known it had all been reserved entirely for _him_.

Although he'd known that there had been little left to salvage within his own being, he knew there'd still been some worth in recovering the remains of this discourse. And though he suspected nothing he could do would ever amount to enough to regain lost ground, he would not give up the endeavor. After all, it had never been in Jace Malcom's character to forfeit.

Half-feigning exhaustion, he averted his fatigued eyes and blew a great sigh. Furrowing his brows, he let his head hang as he gave it a gentle shake.

"All this talk of...problems," he murmured with a wry little laugh. "Let's... Let's just forget it, huh? Hate for it to bring down what's supposed to be a nice dinner with your kid."

Theron had not been fooled in the least by his father's intentions. Diverting conversations had been child's play for him, and it'd been plainly obvious when others drew upon such tactics in conversation with him. While he had remained somewhat disquieted by where it'd been left, he simply didn't have the heart or the mind to pursue the matter any further.

Offering a halfhearted smile, he gave his quiet agreement. "Yeah. Okay." Theron then felt the impulsive tug along the corner of his lips when the droll thought crossed his mind. "Not like we're on the hour, right?"

With his arms lain casually against the table, he let his weight relax into them as he plucked the fork from where it rested on the edge of his plate. "Feel like I should be billing SIS every time these conversations pop up," he murmured in a passing jest.

Following in his own breath of laughter, Jace, too, returned to his dish. "I'll have to have a word with Trant, there."

Theron glanced across the table to see a surprising restlessness in his father's returning stare. Even as he'd been blissfully chewing away at a generous spoonful taken from his plate, Theron _knew_ there was something on the man's mind he must have been pining to ask.

"What?" he took the initiative to inquire first, his look dry with his unenthused expectance. If Jace wouldn't speak, he would draw it out of him.

The commander almost comically blinked as he turned his eyes away with a cool shrug of his broad shoulders. "What? Nothing."

Jace Malcom was _never_ a man who sputtered casual nonsense.

"That look doesn't say 'nothing,'" Theron wryly pointed out. Tossing his fork back onto his plate, he fell back into his chair with the challenging eyes of a dare. "Come on. You got something to say? Just say it," he nearly laughed.

The commander took his time to graciously set his spoon down before taking his cloth napkin to his lips. He set it back down and folded his hands neatly over the tabletop. The casual posture seemed to be one Theron inherited entirely from him.

"So, uh..." he began, keeping his eyes lowered nonchalantly. "You'll let me meet her before your mother, right?" he asked in a completely deliberate attempt at indifference, one that even he was certain wouldn't fly. He perked his eyes back up for a tentative glance at his son. "Your girl?"

Theron's comically dumbfounded pause was enough to answer his doubts, and it'd taken everything in the commander to keep from rolling his eyes at his own laughable attempts at camouflaging his intentions.

Licking his lips, Theron considered all the inane possibilities for a sharp and efficient comeback that would serve most appropriately for his ends.

"'Hey, Grand Master Satele. How do you feel about meeting the girl your son's dating? How's next weekend over dinner sound? Or would you rather us stop by the Jedi Temple on Tython? Either way's fine with us.'"

His wry hypothetical had simply been enough, prompting Jace to shake his head in rumbling laughter. "All right, all right."

Sitting himself back upright, Theron took his fork into hand again, beaming in his own amusement. "Yeah... Just for bringing that up, you're not meeting her _ever_."

"Well, if there's ever going to be a wedding, you're inviting your old man, right?"

The very mention of the idea, no matter how offhanded, brought Theron to a complete halt. His silverware clinked against his plate loudly as he let it drop from his grasp once again. Blinking, he turned a most dubious look to his father. " _Whoa_ , okay—"

"—I'm just _kidding_ ," Jace laughed, holding his hand out to ease him. "Damn...you and your mom both—never could take a joke."

"Nah, I think it's just you who's got some shitty humor," he quipped sardonically.

"Hey, you get _one_ of those," Jace mumbled over his plate. "You little smart-ass..."

"Yeah, you think _I'm_ bad?" Theron challenged with a smug little grin. " _Her_ shots all go for the 'nads. Exactly why...you're not meeting her. _Ever_."

 

* * *

 

"You've been quiet all night. The hell's wrong with you?"

Broken from his pensive daze, Theron blinked and furrowed his brow in mild annoyance. " _What_?" With his retort came a dulled glance as he turned to Balkar, seated beside him. "You've been yakking all night, not like I could even get a word in edgewise," he quipped.

Turning his sights back across the busy bustle of the commons, Balkar brought his drink to his lips for another casual sip. "I think you just need more beer."

Theron wryly stared at the neatly grouped empty bottles on his friend's end of the table, quite the marked contrast to the single emptied one on his own side. "Still working on this one. No thanks," he droned sarcastically, giving the current bottle in his hand a little shake.

"Meh." Balkar's eyes then returned to scoping about the room. 

There'd been groups and pairs of other hotel guests about, with only a sparse few lone patrons to be spotted among the crowds. While many had been seated at their tables taking their meals, most patrons came down to the commons at this hour primarily to socialize or drink, not unlike the pair of agents who'd been parked at the very center of the hall's clamor.

"So, you see any?" Balkar inquired with curious enthusiasm, continuing from the seemingly one-sided conversation he'd been carrying with his companion.

Unsurprisingly, the agent appeared oblivious to Theron's complete absence of mind, having been far too adrift in his own thoughts to devote much to anything beyond them. "See what?" he asked with mild disinterest, mindlessly fiddling his fingers over the glass of his bottled drink.

Balkar's expression dropped as he turned to him. "Were you _not_ listening to a word I've said just now?"

He gave an insipid few blinks to further vex his friend for his own amusement. A small and well-intentioned act of retribution for all the times he'd done the very same to him. "Seems pretty obvious I wasn't."

On any ordinary day, Balkar would have addressed his friend's clearly distracted frame of mind. He may well have inquired of and discussed it, as any invested friend would. But as with many occasions, the agent had indulged himself quite generously in drink at this hour of the evening already, and had been all too blithely oblivious to Theron's unusually taciturn mood.

His droll glance had not shifted in the least through the passing silent seconds. "I don't remember a single time when you were ever this _bored_ talking about women."

All Balkar received in response was a dry shrug, to which he scoffed with a shake of the head. His eyes then stopped on a group of attractive young women lounging at another far corner of the room. He grinned, spotting the little cocktails dotting their table and the carefree laughter they appeared to share. "What about those girls there?" he asked with a nod in their direction.

"Sure," Theron inattentively droned once again.

"You didn't even look."

Growing sullen by Balkar's incessant badgering, he furrowed his brows again in a frown. "Whatever, _fine_ ," he sighed. "Not interested."

Bewildered beyond what his slightly inebriated reasoning could comprehend, Balkar gave him a puzzled look of disbelief. "' _Not interested_ '...?"

Theron turned a very sobering, deadpan glance to his friend. Before his better judgment could stop the words from being voiced, he found himself abruptly tossing them forth in impulse, no longer caring to be bothered by this conversation any longer. "I've got a girlfriend, okay?"

The loud clap of glass against wood followed as Balkar slammed the butt of his drink down against the tabletop. He gave his own unwitting gesture no mind, having done so only half-consciously with little grasp of his own heavy-handedness in the height of his buzzed stupor.

"Wait. The _fuck_ , Shan?" he babbled suddenly after the delayed realization finally came upon his senses. Incredulous at this unprompted revelation, he turned an expectant look to his friend. " _Girlfriend_? When? Why the hell am I hearing about this just _now_?"

"'Cause I don't make a point of telling you assholes everything about my personal life." Theron thinned his lips in exasperation, regretting only too late at having mentioned this at all. He mentally braced himself for the slew of questions to come, all too aware that he'd effectively ended the displeasure of enduring one undesired conversation for another, potentially even less pleasant one.

Balkar's enthusiasm subsided amid the relatively lucid moment of his sudden pause. "Okay. Good point," he mused with a shrug, taking another generous sip. "So?"

"What?" Theron's glance narrowed cynically at his friend's blithe regard.

"Tell me about her. Who's your girl?" Balkar proceeded to pry without an ounce of shame. "She _hot_?"

"I'm not telling you _shit_ about her."

"She's a Twi'lek, isn't she?"

"No."

"Really?" he paused in genuine surprise. "Hm. You always struck me as a Twi'lek-type."

"I'm not."

Theron's stone-faced glance had gone completely unnoticed by his friend as he continued to blissfully prattle on without any regard. "What about that one Twi'lek girl who pops up every now and then—" 

"— _Teff'ith_?" Theron cut his chatter with a look of utter distaste. The very idea nearly gave him chills to even consider. "She's like a _sister_."

Having enough of Balkar's half-drunken ravings, he gave an irksome shake of the head as he rolled his eyes. "Okay, you need to cut this crap."

"Well, come on. You gotta give me _something_." 

It'd become clear that Jonas Balkar would make good on his reputation and refuse to relent in his endeavor until his curiosities had been sufficiently satisfied. Though with the stubbornness to match that of the other agent's, Theron, too, resisted firmly in his uncompromising tenacity to remain private about his personal affairs. It would now seemingly boil down to a match of wills and persistence between two of the most proficient agents within the Republic SIS.

Balkar had been first to bend under the weight of the stubborn silence. Another tactic then, his wily thoughts quickly mused. The esteemed Agent Balkar was nothing if not adaptable. 

"Okay, fine. Don't talk about her. We can...talk about _other_ girls."

Upon catching a glimpse of the only other familiar face among the crowds, the striking mischief on his face became ever more highlighted in the vibrance of a most ingratiating grin.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask..." he murmured, giving Theron's arm a small whack with a stroke of his hand. Once he'd drawn his attention, he nodded for him to glance where his own eyes had lain across the commons. "What do you think of Lana?"

Theron did not share in his friend's delighted amusement, now finding himself looking to the corner of the room he'd deliberately kept his eyes from steering toward over the entire duration of the evening.

"What about her?" he asked in a most impassive volume, quickly lowering his eyes back to his drink in his hands. Balkar's timing had always been impeccable, ironically quite unlike his own on far more occasions than he preferred to acknowledge.

Balkar shrugged, his curious eyes still watching the lone minister at her table across the commons. Her attentions appeared rather occupied by the screen of her datapad held in one hand, while she periodically tapped and swiped away at the device with the other.

"I always thought she's kind of hot," he murmured before another sip from his bottle.

"What— _Lana_...?" Theron nearly sputtered in his curt objection of the idea. Of course, his inner thoughts mused, not because he did not agree. But they'd now tread far too closely along the outermost bounds of his comfort. Even without realizing it, his friend had been disturbingly adept at floundering his way into matters most private—hardly a wonder given his own notorious talents.

"What, you wouldn't go for a girl like that?" he balked in disbelief.

Theron's throat grew arid, prompting him for another drink from his untouched bottle to quench his sudden thirst. "Not into blondes."

" _Oh_..." the other agent drawled with a telling smile.

"The fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"So your girl's _not_ a blonde, huh? Okay. We're getting closer," Balkar declared with confidence.

Though he'd been only slightly relieved by his friend's misplaced sense of self-assurance, he'd been wiser than to inadvertently feed him anything more.

"I told you—not telling you. Jack. _Shit_." Although the emphasis in his words had been plain in its stark humor, he'd meant to prove that his dogged resistance would not be so quickly exhausted.

As one would expect, Jonas Balkar's own persistence would match Theron's in every measurable way. There'd been many aspects these two particular agents held in common, and their single-minded tenacity had been one among their many shared merits. Although, Theron couldn't be certain at this moment if Balkar had truly been this eager to know, or if he'd by now simply lost all trace of tact and sensibility.

"So what's your ideal girl look like?" Before allowing yet another short-tempered retort out of Theron, he preemptively countered his anticipated words with a quick afterthought. "We're not talking about _your_ girl. What's your _ideal_ girl?"

Just as the sharp remark formed at the tip of his tongue, Theron paused after considering his friend's ill-conceived musings. It'd have done him no good to persist against it, so he decided to humor him. He'd been half-drunk anyway. Theron figured that little of anything he tossed his way would be retained beyond the following morning if he didn't temper his consumption before the night's end.

In his calculated listlessness, Theron turned his gaze across the room to find Lana at the center of his line of sight. He took a sip of his drink before offering a nonchalant shrug.

"I don't know. Brunette?" he droned with only middling enthusiasm. He focused his sights to digest all that one's naked sight could glimpse. "Longer hair is nice."

"Okay. I can see that," Balkar hummed with a dazed grin, picturing this imaginary woman as her image had been painted for his mind to behold.

"Olive complexion. Maybe...light, hazel eyes," he mumbled, letting the glass bottle perch at the edge of his lips. "Or green's pretty too, I guess."

Balkar gave a nod with his brightened smirk. "Those exotic-looking girls. Yeah, I feel that."

While Theron continued to describe all the things that Lana Beniko was not, the focus of his gaze would not stray from its single fixed point. He'd done so well to keep his sights abroad and untethered thus far, but now that they'd been caught, the line had become tightly anchored and drawn.

As he spoke, his eyes observed how she'd been seated—one leg crossed over the other at the knees, in display of a most elegant confluence of utter refinement and casual repose. The attention of her own gaze focused only upon the small illuminated screen of her datapad held in one hand, while the fingers of the other tapped and swiped away in absentminded grace across its surface. He'd watched her do this enough to memorize every path and flourish of her hands' gestures, their signature felt within his own palms every time he recalled to them the very sensation of their delicate touch. A _private_ memory for only his thoughts to revisit and reenvision as he desired.

The exquisite still-frame had then been abruptly disturbed upon the untimely and unwelcome intrusion of some passing stranger. Theron continued to watch with a now narrowed focus as the seeming gentleman hovered by her table, drawing her attention away by some presumed pleasantries and a most gracious smile. Lana appeared to return them with a sweet and polite one of her own. 

What a nuisance—for some perfect stranger to disturb one's peace like so. But _of course_ Lana would not rebuke the courtesies of another, no matter how cosmetic such kindnesses were. Theron then nearly smirked himself once he glimpsed her delighted little smile stiffen at its core following some exchange with this man. Oh, he _knew_ when Lana's patience ran thin—when she'd come to rely solely on her natural graces to remain cordial. Not that she had been incapable of it, but she had never been one with a mind to offend. Surely, _he_ would know.

_Offering her a drink, huh...? Kiss my ass._

Theron hid his swelling grin behind another sip of his drink. How familiar the look of interest on this unwitting simpleton's face was. He simply couldn't help himself in the amusement of watching her innocent attempt to charm her way out of the man's undesired generosities. The unmistakable subtlety beneath Lana's propriety was something he'd now come to recognize as plainly as her gaze. Such nuances had always been a most perplexing puzzle for those around her to decipher. And it'd all become transcribed to such simplicity to Theron now, that he required little to no words to interpret any of it.

At the height of his indulgent amusement, her eyes unwittingly caught his in the moment they'd briefly darted away from her uninvited guest. Theron's smile tempered at this, and he watched as she appeared to offer some hasty excuse or other with a mild gesture of the hand and a shake of her head. Only shortly after the man had taken the other seat across from her, Lana had then risen from her own, collecting her belongings. He turned his scrutiny upon the man's countenance, reading from his disposition a most reserved but very clear disappointment. Though he appeared to smile anyway, offering a respectful nod in some form of understanding.

_...Buddy, you're so full of shit._

" _Whoo_... Now, if that ain't a rejection..." Balkar's chuckling remark interrupted the prolonged silence that had passed, unnoticed by Theron's deeply occupied and equally overlooked attentions. He proceeded to indulge in another gulp of his drink as he reclined into the back of his chair.

A sudden dread chilled Theron's spine once Balkar had shown to have been watching this unfold as well. He stole a quick glance at his friend, only to realize upon glimpsing the broad, unapologetic grin worn on his face that he had certainly found a different form of amusement in all this. He turned his eyes forward to see Lana already in stride at a brisk pace across the room toward them. With her eyes casually lowered and her handbag in tow, she'd made every effort to appear as though she'd been moving with purpose. Once she neared their table, she glanced up at the two agents with a blissful smile of greeting before taking a seat across from them.

Setting her bag down in the chair beside her, she leaned in closer toward them. "Pretend you're both socializing with me," she jested in a hush.

" _Pretend_?" Balkar humored her, remarking as though it'd been an entirely redundant thing to ask of them.

With a gentle laugh, Lana settled into her seat, folding her hands over the table as she devoted her full attention to the two men.

"Looking pretty tonight. As usual," the livelier of the two agents greeted with a wholehearted smile and a quick wink.

"Why...thank you, Agent Balkar," Lana sang back in good humor. She paused to give the two a rather comical once-over, her keen eyes spotting their unkempt, untucked shirts, unbuttoned at the collars with their jackets carelessly thrown over the backs of their chairs. Her smile grew taut in amusement. "The both of you look rather fetching yourselves this evening."

Balkar then slowly leaned in close toward his friend's ear. "She thinks we're pretty, too."

Theron recoiled, both from his drunkenly loud whisper and the pungent fumes of alcohol on his breath. "Damn it, Balkar..." he grumbled, swatting his face away.

With a mischievous snicker, he turned back to Lana. Making some effort to recompose himself, he gathered what minimal attention he'd been able to maintain to properly address her. "So...? What took you? We've all been hanging around down here the whole night, and you come over to these two assholes only _now_ to say 'hi'?"

While Lana held every intention of speaking to them in earnest, her thorough amusement of the comical spectacle that was Agent Jonas Balkar had effectively spawned a perpetual little grin that forced every effort within her to subdue.

"The both of you looked so content with one another, I couldn't bring myself to come and disturb such idyllic bliss," she teased with a tightened smile.

"What are you talking about?" Balkar drawled. "It's a freaking sausage-fest over here..." 

As though watching a sleight of hand at play, the agent's expression abruptly shifted once the latent thought crossed his mind. He blinked, turning a renewed look of enthusiasm to her.

" _Speaking_ of which—Shan's got a freaking _girlfriend_. Did you know this?" he eagerly asked, gesturing in excitement between her and Theron.

The merest pause halted Lana once the blissfully drunken agent had divulged this. It would seem, however, that the stillness beneath her subdued look of surprise had gone entirely unnoticed by him, despite the near-intrusive depth of his intrigue. She blinked, recalling a manner of wonder to her disposition, although she'd remained perceptibly lacking in all the gratuitous enthusiasm Theron observed in either his closest friend or his father.

"Oh," Lana mused. Her incisive eyes met with Theron's once she shifted her attention briefly towards him. "Does he, now?"

"Yeah. But this asshole won't _say_ ," Balkar wryly remarked, eyeing the other, uncharacteristically taciturn agent. Another sudden glow of mischief then illuminated his face as he leaned forward over the table.

"Hey, Lana. You can read people's minds, right? Sithy Force powers and all?" He furtively shifted his eyes between her and Theron. "Can you take a crack at his and tell me what you see?"

The Sith minister had been delicate in containing her tickling urge to grin, tightening her lips as she spoke. "I've never been able to read his thoughts."

Quite in spite of her thoroughly innocuous response, Theron's sights abruptly rose, following his attentions across the table toward her. He perked his brow in his discerning gaze. "I didn't know you've _tried_." Though he'd long figured as much of her, hearing her plain admittance of it was another thing entirely, and he'd now meant to give her _some_ manner of well-intentioned grief for it.

Noting the surprise in his tone, Lana realized only too late what her own inadvertent admission entailed. She stiffened in her chair, assuming a playful air of nonchalance. Offering a perfectly innocent little smile, she shrugged.

"I'd...hardly known you at the time," she suggested in justification of herself. "I needed to know that the man I was to collaborate with would not subvert and deceive me..."

An obviously conceived cover of an excuse. One that would never have flown past Theron's better senses in even his greenest years. His wry look remained unchanged. If she was going to play this game, he wouldn't lose out in front of his own idiot friend, regardless of the blatant advantage of her unwitting charm and charisma in Balkar's eyes.

In the most graceless manner ever observed of her, Lana gave an uncharacteristic breath of a scoff. "Oh, don't pretend like you wouldn't have done the very same were you in my position. You'd have been foolish not to," she added in a poorly disguised fluster.

Oblivious to the unspoken nature beneath their exchange, Balkar failed to take any notice of the slightest smirk that crept along the corner of Theron's lips, or Lana's sudden, anxious flurry of batting lashes. After another sip from his bottle, he set it down with another unseemly clang.

"So, we've been seeing a lot more of you in our parts of the galaxy," he began along another wayward tangent. He then grinned upon a brimming afterthought. "Not that I'm complaining."

As ever, Lana responded in a warm pass of laughter at the agent's typical, unabashed flattery. It'd been all the same whether he was neck deep in his hard drinks or when he'd been perfectly sober.

"Well, as it seems—I'd been the best presumed candidate for an Imperial liaison here. I suppose there'd been none other they could find who would be a better fit to send to the Republic."

Balkar raised his bottle high toward her. "Total agreement here. _Definitely_ not complaining."

"It was a bit of an amusing thing, really," she recalled to mind blithely. "I'd been told of their reasoning. Something along the lines of... 'Beniko is, ostensibly, the only one competent enough—and with the capacity for the _patience_ —to lend the proper efficiency to any foreseeable collaboration with the lot of them.'" As she recited the words verbatim, the almost mocking, nonchalant manner of her candid tone added a gentle touch of humor to the plain statement.

"'And she seems likeable enough to the Pubs,'" she added in afterthought and smiled. "I don't know. Do you find me likeable?" she questioned in jest as if to test the presumptions of the very idea.

" _I_ find you likeable," Balkar answered with a delighted shrug before turning to his grimly silent drinking companion with a look of pretended distaste. "I don't know about _him_. He never seems to perk up the way I do when you're around," he remarked in wry sarcasm. "But then again, he always looks all pissy, so can't say I really know..."

Theron silently craned his head, steering a dry, unamused glance his way in response.

Taking another casual sip of his beer, Balkar remained unfazed in the line of his wintry gaze. "See? He's doing it now. King of resting bitch face."

"' _Resting bitch face_ '? Well, that sounds familiar," Lana hummed. "I believe _I've_ been claimed to have one on occasion."

The minister had a peculiar, stately manner about her humor, completely free of the astringent sarcasm Balkar had been accustomed to with Theron. But her wit had been of the same sort, he'd come across enough times to observe. The effortless sophistication of even her most offhanded remarks had been an amusement in itself, and Balkar could hardly resist his passing spasms of laughter even when sober, let alone while dazed in half-drunken bliss.

" _You_?" he snorted, lingering on a lofty little grin. He blinked as his latent thoughts tinkered along within until his present mind appeared to fully process them. "Okay, yeah. When you're like...just sitting alone and really focused on...I don't know, your datapad or something. You _kinda_ do."

The agent's harmless tease won a lively song of laughter from her. Turning to the only one yet to have spoken a word of greeting since her arrival, Lana smiled with a most welcoming patience.

"So? Agent Shan?" she addressed him in a lowered hum of a voice. "Do _you_ find me likeable?"

Theron's sights reserved a brief moment to evaluate her once their eyes met again. She'd goad him into playing along with this little game, it would seem. Although rather muted as soon as she regarded him, her quaint little smile had been more revealing to him than any other. She would press and dare him with her unspoken cues, but he would remain the immovable stonewaller, committing to his lackadaisical ruse for as long as this would go on. Biding a moment for himself to consider his response, he took another sip of his beer.

He set the drink back down as he reclined back into his chair, finally offering a sparse shrug. "One of the biggest pains in the ass _I've_ ever had to deal with, that's for sure," he droned, letting his eyes glaze over the glass of the bottle while he idly rotated it between his fingers. Only when he turned his gaze forward again did he return the same, hidden smile. "But I think I'm leaning more towards 'like' than not."

Lana only responded with a sound of a thoughtful hum. "That's as much of a compliment as I'll ever receive from him, isn't it?"

"I'd run with it," Balkar nodded with a wink of an eye. "So. You...seemed to be hard at work all alone in your little corner there."

"Ah, yes. Many matters about the galaxy," she sighed, her smile dimming as she cast her eyes down towards her fingers stirring within their own grasp. "All about...throughout the Empire, in particular."

Just as soon as the matter had been brought up, Theron noted the sudden, dulling weariness beneath her warm demeanor. His fingers halted, unconsciously tightening around the glass bottle between them.

"Many, _many_ issues to address within our borders... I have been fortunate to have an aide such as Bensyn to assist in handling affairs Imperial-side. He has been performing spectacularly." Lana's words came with a sobering breeze, carrying with it the seeds of her deepest contemplation. Upon realizing the radical shift in her disposition, she released a breath to ward away the heavy thoughts, masking them with a quiet, relieving laugh.

"And, of course...we wouldn't have been able to accomplish half as much as we have without the aid and support of our _allies_ ," she noted expressly, regarding her Republic counterpart with an especially sincere smile.

The shared glances between them had once again been passed over completely by the unwitting third agent, interrupted entirely once Balkar threw his arm around Theron's shoulder with a jovial smirk. The blissful agent zealously tugged his friend in closer toward himself. "Yeah, we're pretty awesome, aren't we?"

In light of Balkar's carefree ignorance, Theron brushed off his tactless antics this time. "We're all here to do what _needs_ to be done, right?" he reminded for all at their private little table to hear. "Fallout from a war...it's everyone's problem in the end."

"One I am confident we shall all find a way to resolve," Lana quaintly offered her affirmation of his sentiments.

"Leading by example," Balkar added in his drunken mirth. He nodded, assuming an air of thoughtful esteem. "It's what we do," the agent proudly declared, raising his bottle in a small salute across the table. "And I'd like to think we're doing a pretty fucking good job."

Lana's stilled smile guarded her present thoughts—that the agent may well have been farther gone in his drink than any of them had initially figured. "Well. There is still much ground yet to cover, Agent Balkar. But I admire your candor," she laughed. Better to be witness to his fervor than otherwise, even if slightly inflated by the influence of his drink.

As though the passing thought had just crossed her mind, Lana suddenly blinked and shook her head. "Before I forget, Agent Shan. I wanted to ask," she addressed him offhandedly. "I'd been perusing the newly forwarded documents I'd just received. It's...it's quite a _substantial_ amount to go through. I was wondering..." 

She directed her eyes away again, smiling to herself demurely before politely inquiring him of her favor. "Would you have a moment later this evening to stop by my room and assist in sorting through them? An extra set of diligent eyes is always convenient," she commented with a blithe air of laughter, "and yours, in particular, are always most helpful."

Moments like these passed between them too many times to number. The unspoken exchange in the shadow of the spoken words—recurring in different iterations, but all the same in its context each time. There was no visible cue to be seen other than the merest subtleties in her lips, in her eyes, in her fair countenance. And he, too, remained just as immaculate in appearance, untelling in his every returning gaze and gesture. The moment passed with a mere flicker before he shifted his eyes away, offering a bare, obligatory nod.

"Yeah. Sure," Theron answered simply. He then turned to the other agent with a rather dry little smirk. "Sorry, Balkar. This might be my last one, then. Won't be too helpful to her all shit-faced."

Lana supplemented his droll apology with an earnest smile of her own. "I apologize, Agent Balkar, for stealing your drinking cohort away from you tonight."

"You can have him. Been killing my buzz all night," he scoffed, waving his hand inanely in dismissal. "See, if I hadn't already gotten myself a little crapped up, I'd totally offer to help, too. So...I mean if anyone's apologizing, it should be me."

Although his own closest friend remained utterly unfazed by his rambling absurdities, it would appear that the unwitting charm of his humor had still been infallible at drawing the Sith minister's laughter, complemented delightfully by the refreshing light of her mirth.

"You know, Lana—anyone ever tell you you've got a really pretty smile?"

His unabashed compliments, too, never failed to stir her most brightened amusement. And just as well, they'd only served to further draw the other agent's familiar gaze of unadulterated exasperation.

"I mean it. You really—"

"—Why, thank you _very_ much for such a kind thing to say, Agent Balkar." Lana asserted her swift sentiments with such gratuitous zeal, the words had effectively halted his barely-conceived thoughts before they'd escaped his unfiltered lips.

"Now, if you don't mind... I must be preparing to head back to my room soon. Work, as usual, awaits."

"Oh, yeah. I, uh—I gotta go take a leak myself, actually."

"TMI, Balkar," Theron droned in total absence of any surprise or expectation before taking another sip of his drink. "Got a lady here."

"It's fine. It's just _Lana_ ," he snorted, languidly waving off his snide reprimand. Rising from his chair, he then hobbled off in search of the nearest refresher. 

In her silent amusement, Lana turned her attention to her remaining companion. Hardly able to contain herself, she pressed her lips together in a thin, revealing smile.

Theron gave only a shake of the head as he rolled his eyes, watching Balkar disappear from sight into the crowds. "Sorry about that."

"You're always so inclined to apologize for the misbehavior of your fellow agents, Theron. In _this_ case, it's quite unnecessary, I assure you."

As asinine as Balkar often grew to be after enough drinks, Lana had never taken any offense to his indecorous remarks. Unfiltered as they were, she still found his beaming, unhindered behavior to be rather amusing to engage.

"Yeah, looks like you've learned how to handle his drunk ass pretty well now, too," Theron mused, smiling to himself fondly as his idling hands trailed over his bottled drink.

His eyes didn't stir again from where they'd lain, cast indistinctly against the grains of the table's surface. It'd only been the barest sensation brushing along the tips of his fingers that had been enough to draw his gaze back toward them, looking to see Lana's own reaching and taking hold. Such a small gesture it'd been. 

The kindling embers first impelled his fingers in only the faintest traces of life. Its encompassing warmth most gentle in its coaxing until it'd lured them to loosen from the numbingly chilled glass. Until they responded, set alight by the glowing fires beginning to rouse their movements. Until the flames singed his very hand, marking them with her brand, her signature. And the fires would not be quelled until they engulfed him. Such was the very sensation he'd _always_ felt by her barest touch. And this had been but a sample of it.

"...So you'll come by later tonight?" she inquired again in a whisper of a breath, only daring to ask once she'd felt his generous return—when he'd requited her gesture, entwining his fingers with her own by his most exquisite graces.

How he'd kneaded and caressed her hand had been enough of an answer for her. She watched as a playful, muted smile tinted his countenance while he traced his thumb along the contours of her knuckles. He'd appeared entirely fixated by the tactile sensation, until he regarded her at last with a silent nod.

"I said I would, didn't I?" His elusive smile seemed almost designed to disguise a most clandestine secret. 

A curious mind by nature—how she _loved_ unearthing secrets. _His_ had been the most rewarding of them all to uncover, and she'd held the most impeccable methods by which to coax them from him. Ones that need not at all require any services the Force could offer.

Knowing her time for departure had come, he watched as she rose from her chair. Drawn by the faintest lead felt in the gentle, almost imperceivable pressure from his grasp, she eased her motions. She smiled knowingly at the all too familiar yearning of his touch. This small gesture would not suffice for him this time, it would seem. Of course not. When had it _ever_ been enough? But she could not stay. There would be time to temper their longing if he would only spare a bit more of his patience.

_Theron's patience_. That may as well have been the most comical of contradictions she'd have ever conceived.

Lana drifted along by near-tantalizing measures, only releasing her hand from his grasp once it'd slipped far enough away as she turned to go, leaving him with a lingering, departing glance—a simplest intimation of what had still been yet to come.

' _Patience_...' Theron swore her lips silently whispered. And within the following seconds, she'd disappeared down the adjoining corridor into the moving populace. He'd never fared too ably in the wake of their departures, it seemed, no matter how fleeting the passing time in between each one had been.

 

* * *

 

Theron doesn't like _things_ , Lana knows. He may not say it, he may not show or admit it, but Theron is a bit of a sentimental man. This is something she has only begun to learn. He likes _experiences_. He likes to know and to feel things—figuratively or otherwise. 

At first, she supposes that makes him all the easier to treat, but upon her deep and long contemplation, she only worries more and more. A gifted item can only be wrong or right in the instance it is bestowed. An experience lasts and endures and is not easily forgotten—wrong or right. So Lana worries if she will be good company. She worries if she will say the right thing, worries if Theron would come to realize she is even more so not at all as he imagined. She worries she will disappoint him. 

It is almost laughable to pine over such thoughts, she tries to remind herself, knowing that Theron has spent far more time around her than her memory presently acknowledges—long enough to know what to expect. There wouldn't be any surprises. There would only be _more_ , newly shared experiences. Lana has enjoyed them all so far. Even the bad ones, in retrospect. There is no reason that Theron wouldn't either, she _hopes_.

Such were the constant, relentless streams of thought coursing through Lana's mind on that night. The _first_ night of its kind. How she'd minded her appearance, never quite satisfied with any of her choices. Ironic, she'd mused. She'd never been one to be so indecisive. She'd never been one to concern herself with how others perceived her. Not for some time now, at least. Why, then—of all people—should such apprehension stir within the depths of her being at the merest thought of _him_? Theron wouldn't care about such trivial things. Yet still, Lana was concerned that he _may_. She would show him something he'd yet to have seen. She would surprise him. She would _impress_ him.

_'Impress' him?_

Lana smiled at her own reflection in the mirror, lifted by the humor of her excessive thoughts. With her frivolous concerns sufficiently quelled by the dawning reminder of what had been the purpose of that night at all, she'd at last been contented enough to settle on her choices then.

Even when Lana had made certain not to be late for this appointment, she hadn't been at all surprised to find that Theron had been first to arrive anyway. He was peculiar about his punctuality, as she'd heard often enough from the Director of SIS himself. Simply put, Theron Shan only invested effort in being timely if and when he cared to. Judging by the preliminary items already served to the table he'd reserved, she figured he had likely been sitting in wait longer than simply a few minutes' time. Smiling to herself, she discreetly proceeded through the doors of the restaurant to meet him.

"...Drinking already, I see. Before I've even arrived?" she quipped upon her stately arrival, catching her dining companion completely unaware. 

Lana's sudden voice brought Theron's attention snapping from where it'd focused intently at the front entrance. Her whimsical gaze turned from its brief glimpse of the darkly tinted, uncorked bottle set before him, nearly laughing to see the start she'd seemingly given him by just a mere greeting. Though she'd been entirely unaware that his surprise had come only partially from her unexpected arrival.

Theron blinked to dispel his spellbound sights, having lingered just a touch longer than he'd intended once they'd been drawn to her. He disguised his momentary, staggering lapse of composure with a reticent smile. "I had my eyes on those doors the entire time," he regarded her warily. "I didn't see you come in."

"Careful, Agent Shan. It wouldn't do for your skills to slip, now. I am still very much in need of your services," Lana responded with a tease of a smile. "Or... I presume it may just be because you've been expecting a Sith Lord to walk through those doors," she mused, gleaming with her clear intent to bait him, "and _not_ a smartly dressed lady guest with whom you've agreed to share this dinner."

How _immaculate_ she'd appeared that night. Lana Beniko was ever the woman of such fair complexion—light hair, light eyes, light skin—now more so exemplified by her meticulous choice of color that evening. A simple sheath dress of _white_ , revealed only after she'd swiftly slipped from her shoulders the matching wool coat of cream adorned over it. And to top her ensemble—an unassuming cloche of caramel, worn stylishly tilted over her impeccably brushed hair, pulled and clipped into rolling tresses behind her left ear.

Every manner of her appearance had been so tactfully modest. So demure, so unostentatious. All, that was, save for her lips painted _red_. A bold color. The color of daring, the color of passion. Theron's _favorite_. He'd have pondered how deliberate her choices may or may not have been, appearing as she had that evening, if not for such an intentional color reserved so _exclusively_ for her lips.

He watched with lulling patience as her fingers tended to her coat's closures. How she'd then delicately folded and draped the garment over the back of her chair. She regarded him with a twinkling glance, tilting her hat with a dapper flair before she slipped it from her head and set it down along the edge of their table. Theron had now risen to his feet to meet her, unable to peel away his drawn sight since her arrival.

Drawn by a distinct detail spotted among his own chosen attire, Lana peered down from his eyes at the unfamiliar accessory he'd chosen to don this particular evening.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in a tie," she mused aloud. "Seems almost... _peculiar_ to even imagine." 

Reaching forward, she took the liberty of adjusting its knot at his collar—an excuse for her fingers to sample its finely woven threads of silk. Textile as fine as this was a thing she'd rarely, if ever, recalled of any garment worn by Theron. Though Theron Shan was, of course, a man of simplicity, all but telling in the undecorated wefts of his tie's deep, muted grey. 

"But now that I see it...I suppose it is rather becoming," she smiled curiously in her tentative approval.

Theron's own trailing gaze traced every present detail to be glimpsed within his immediate sight until they'd settled upon the brilliance of her countenance. How she peered at him from beneath her lashes. Her exalted smile, holding his gaze suspended by its gracious lure. And her lips—such a _color_ to behold.

"And look at you. All dolled up just for me...?" he grinned, brushing his hand across her face to catch the curled ends of her fastened locks between his fingers in a playful fondle.

Her smile tightened at his faint tease. "Only because _you_ did," she quipped, an elusive nod in return toward his own comely, debonair presence. 

Reading the familiar smolder of eagerness in his eyes, she raised her daring gaze when he stirred closer, drifting to close the tauntingly inconsiderable distance between them. She'd been entirely prepared to receive his kiss, only to find herself thoroughly feinted once her lips grazed not his own, but the bare skin of his face instead. He'd eluded her completely, leaving her blanched in her sudden and rather comically awkward discomposure.

"Yeah, you got me." He'd knowingly turned away to whisper his offhanded tease to her ear. "Probably why I didn't notice you slip in."

Theron's intentions had not escaped her wits in the slightest. It would appear as if he'd be the one to initiate the game this time. Not only would she boldly accept his challenge, but she resolved to best him. His utterly transparent play at coyness—how clever he must have imagined his goading smile to have been. A fitting composite to the bland look of wry disaffection she'd worn _especially_ for him.

"You have lipstick on your face," Lana sullenly remarked, factually noting her plain observation of the vibrant imprint of red left smudged along his cheek.

How gratifying it'd felt, when she witnessed his mischievous little smile sink entirely. It'd been upon seeing him grimace in his passing confusion that the stubbornly withheld laughter, at last, escaped her breath. Lana shook her head and reached for the folded napkin lain on her end of the table. Unfurling it, she dabbed one of its corners into the glass of water set beside it before proceeding to wipe the color from his face.

She smiled soundly to herself as she patted the dampened cloth against his skin. When it appeared that the color would not be cleanly lifted so easily, she pressed her lips together at the nuisance of the simple, trying task, attempting to swab at the smear with a firmer touch. 

"People are going to think I abuse you..." she mumbled in droll humor, seeing that the smudge still remained, now dubiously appearing quite like the unmistakable rosy blemish left behind by a good, heavy-handed slap.

"Not like it'd be too far off character, I'd say," Theron quipped, perking his brows suggestively. Catching her wry glance as she paused, he grinned. "I mean, I've gotten the crap beat out of me before—split lip, black eye, and everything 'cause of _you_."

Though spoken in good humor, his jest had only brought with it the regrettable memories of the debacle they'd become entangled in against the Revanites on Rishi. As much forgiveness as Theron had assured her of since then, she'd taken no delight in being reminded again of her grievous faults against him. No matter how much time had distanced the memory from her mind, Lana would never quite be relieved of the lingering guilt that still weighed deeply, buried in the bed of her heart.

He'd first felt her tentative hand ease the cloth away from his face before glimpsing the eclipsed light of her waning disposition. Immediately, he responded to ward away the shadow of her melancholy. He would not have it of her. Not tonight.

Theron's gesture had come in only a playful flicker of a moment. The spontaneous, innocent little peck he'd given to her parted lips left her eyes in a sudden flutter of surprise, and he gently smiled. "That said...I _think_ I can take a little lipstick to the face." He remained unstirring until he'd been assured of her lifted spirits when she finally allowed herself a merest glimmer of a returning smile.

"Come on," he urged with a nod, stepping around to take her chair. Tapping its back, he cued for her to come and take her seat.

It'd been only once she'd sat down at the table that her eyes noted the distinct, deep hue of the drink already poured into the delicate glass set on Theron's side of the table.

" _Red_..."

In his quiet amusement, he raised his forefinger in a bid for her to stay her thoughts before bending over to reach for something at the foot of his chair. Stowed away in the carrying bag beside him, Theron pulled out another exquisitely branded bottle—full and unopened. He set it onto the table with the rather illustrious grin of his beaming satisfaction and nudged it towards her.

Lana's eyes perused the label of this bottle, quickly recognizing it to be a fairly extravagant brand of _white_ wine. Her breath halted, leaving her lips parted in a quiet and rather charmed astonishment. "Oh. You've...come prepared, I see."

"Looked for the sweetest one I could find. Probably enough to make me sick to my stomach. All yours, Beniko."

A gentle air of laughter escaped her breath once she'd found it again. Her eyes found his when they glanced up from the bottle's label. Beneath their gracious regard, there'd been a layer of genuine appreciation for his thoughtful gesture, far sweeter in its sentiments than she imagined the wine would ever be.

Theron held his menu open in his hands, already flipping through the pages to browse the selection. "Top of the checklist. You only mentioned this like ten times," he murmured in droll dismissal.

" _Two_ ," Lana sang, returning with the same casual wit to match his as she peered through the list of options from her own.

"... _Tightwad_."

His offhanded tease in all its infantile caprice immediately halted her focus. He only deigned to peer from his menu at the cue of her hanging silence. It'd been the endearing chagrin of her glower that roused him to persist in his relentless mischief.

"Hey. I know the kind of trouble guys get into for forgetting this kind of stuff."

Lana's dubious gaze had not shifted in the least. "Speaking from well-learned experience, I imagine?"

Pressing his lips together thinly, he responded by reaching across the table to slide the unopened bottle he'd set down even closer toward her. "Drink your wine."

Brightened by the humor of his gesture, Lana laughed. "I'm not expected to finish it _all_ , am I?"

" _Hell_ no. Did you read the label? This ain't the cheap stuff, Beniko." He gestured at the bottle with pointed emphasis. "I bought it. And as sick as it's probably going to make me feel, I get as many dibs as I want."

"I was not aware the gifts you give all came conditionally. Although..." Suddenly reminded of their conversation the day she'd received his last gift, Lana tugged down the high neck of her dress to pull out the very item in question. She gracefully lowered her delicate gaze, fondly fiddling with the cluster of purple mottled flowers between her fingers. "...I suppose there _is_ a precedent for it."

"Good. You're finally getting my angle on things." 

His playful smirk had hidden deftly the gratifying affection in his heart to see that she'd taken to the minor trinket so. It'd been a thing of hardly any notion, really, and he'd never imagined she would do much with it. But seeing it worn by her had delighted him dearly. Such a simple, forgettable little thing. How he adored her reverence of something so unremarkably ordinary. Perhaps that had been the novelty of it—the plain purity of her unadulterated sentiments.

Lana narrowed her eyes across the table, sharpening her knowing smile to such a fine edge. "Oh, I'm _quite_ well-versed with it now."

...So Lana claims. 

When it appears, now, that she no longer feels so apprehensive as she was at the start of this evening, she soon drifts into silence in the moments following. It slowly descends on them like a sinking curtain of fog. They read their menus in silence, they consider their choices without any discussion or conference, and once their decisions are settled, they promptly place their orders the next time a server passes by their table. Theron speaks his choices first, and Lana answers after. And just as the server prepares to go fulfill their orders, Theron then asks for yet another dish, a simple appetizer plate decided as an afterthought. He smiles across the table invitingly when the server departs, figuring it is something they may share as they wait for their entrees, but Lana only returns a passing glimpse of her own before lowering her eyes.

Her eyes wander to find her folded hands rested on her lap. It's as though she forgets how to best fill the void in the air between them. The next moment she takes to glance back across the table, she determines to say something— _anything_ —only to see Theron's attention already intently adrift elsewhere across the room, and her reticence overcomes her again. She doesn't have the heart to disturb him, despite being desperate for conversation. For a _distraction_.

Instead, Lana tightens her lips, suddenly self-conscious of speaking imprudently. In a bid to regain inward composure, she delicately releases a long-withheld breath, vainly willing away the daunting restlessness from her being. Since she cannot bring herself to cross the threshold between them, she inclines herself to instead mirror what he does. Perhaps she may, at the very least, affect the seeming quietude that appears to come so naturally to him. Or so she hopes.

Lana lets herself recline into repose. Elbow set against the edge of the table. Face gingerly propped into the back of her idle hand. One leg crossed over the other at the knee. And as her thoughts finally begin to drift into quiet oblivion, becoming yet another instrument composing the background noise, her leisured gaze, too, follows along in the ongoing symphony. The movement reaches such a hushed adagio that she doesn't even notice the bustling footfalls of the returning server bearing their dinner's first course.

"—Over here's good." 

In Theron's hasty attempt to assist the server clear their table space, the back of his hand had unwittingly tipped one of the several glasses standing about. Alerted just a hair too late by the clink of the toppled glass, Lana jolted in a gasp at the sudden disruption.

" _Oh, shit_ —!" Theron muttered, darting his hand forward to pick up the glass as he helplessly watched the stream of red seeping across the cloth surface, trickling over the far end of the table.

Immediately pulling her arm away from the edge as she snapped back upright, Lana had already felt the chill of the red liquid bleeding through the skirt of her dress.

"Fuck. Lana, I'm so sorry," he cursed at himself beneath his breath, quickly rising from his chair as he fetched his clean napkin.

"Oh, dear." Quickly setting down the plate of appetizers, the elderly server retrieved a towel from his apron, proceeding to soak the excess wine from the tablecloth. "Are you all right, there?" he asked politely as he hastened to dry the area of its stained surface.

Lana paused and finally released a breath of a laugh in spite of the mess on their hands. "No, it's—it's fine. I'm fine."

"Fucking idiot..." Theron continued to berate himself as he tossed his cloth napkin into her lap to soak the wine from her dress.

"I'll find some more towels for you folks. Goodness, I'm so sorry," the server graciously apologized.

"No, you're totally fine," Theron assured the kindly old man, "that was all stupid me." Turning a deeply apologetic look to Lana, he scrambled to tend to the stain in her lap. "Sorry," he breathed again aloud to her.

In the desperation of his lament, the comforts of Lana's sweet smile had gone completely unnoticed. "Theron, it's fine."

"Here, why don't we get you seated at a new table? Let us take care of this," the server offered.

With his flailing mind gone completely absent, Theron had barely registered any words that crossed his earshot. "Uh..."

"No, that won't be necessary," Lana looked to the man, graciously shaking her head, "but some extra towels will do, thank you."

With a polite nod, the man then hurried away.

Still fixated on the task of cleaning her dress, Theron's breaths began to deepen at the core of his swelling frustration. "Such a _freaking_ idiot..."

In hopes of quelling his unnecessarily fretful solicitude, Lana gently addressed him. "Theron—"

"—I'm so fucking sorry, Lana."

"Theron..."

"I wasn't—"

" _Theron_."

Her voice, quiet but firm, beckoned him once more as she placed her hand over his to halt him. Once she'd drawn his attention back, she graced him with all the affection she could bear in a single endearing smile. With the faintest touch, she eased his fingers from the now soiled cloth napkin.

"It's _all right_ ," she whispered in all her tender patience. She then slipped the cloth away from his hand and set it aside back on the table. 

Brushing her fingertips in the slightest tickle over the trace of color still smeared on his skin, she beamed at the befitting humor of it all. 

"A bit of red for your face... A bit of red for my dress..." Lana hummed in a quaint sound of laughter. "Don't we match so well, now?"

As she drew his hand from her lap, she clasped her own slender fingers around his with a gentle press. "Go sit down," she urged him, nodding across the table back toward his vacant seat. "Unless you prefer our first dish of the evening to get cold."

If it hadn't been for Lana's affectionate prompt and calming touch, Theron may well have forgotten their plate still awaiting them entirely. Even so, it had only been when he'd dared to glimpse into her eyes again to see for himself the sincerity of her forgiving endearments, when the racing pace of his heart at last began to settle. Following soon enough, the course of his mind's tumult calmed with it, and in his regaining coherence, he found the confidence within to smile once again for her.

Theron reached his palm forward, cupping the side of her neck to draw her close for a firmly placed kiss on the brow. "I'm so sorry for ruining your dress."

"Dresses can be cleaned, you silly thing. No need to agonize."

"I'll get you a new one. I promise," he insisted in partial jest as he rose to his feet.

As Lana minded herself with reordering the chaotic clutter of her end of the table, she casually dismissed the notion of it entirely. "I have plenty others."

"A _purple_ one."

The plain words of his simple promise drew her to a pause. Just as she peered across the table in her dawning amusement, her eyes, as they often did in these silent interludes, perfectly coincided with his own. There'd been no adequate response Lana could conceive. Once their mutual silence endured enough seconds, she lowered her gaze, the corners of her colored lips stirring as she bore a mere hint of delighted modesty upon her unassuming countenance. 

To occupy the unwelcome stillness, she swiftly reached for the dish still awaiting them along the table's edge, sliding it towards the center between them. 

"I believe this was _your_ item of choice," she commented in a leisured tone as she plucked her silverware from its place setting. "After you, Agent Shan."

Of _course_ , it had taken an upheaval to dispel the surmounting discomfort of silence that had overtaken them. It would seem that _only_ in the presence of such hapless calamities had they ever been coaxed closer in step toward one another. Little by little, the words had come, streaming back in their natural running flow from the course of their most listless, unextravagant thoughts. It'd been such modes that summoned back to the private realm of this modest little table all the sounds of the teasing and the laughter. All the most forgettable words within the conversations of utter unimportance. There'd been a sense of comfort to be had in the habitual routines of the plain and regular. Although truly, such _familiarity_ had been anything but plain for ones of their likes. Like the rarest, most prized jewels known of the universe, such moments—such _experiences_ —had been precious treasures to be collected and cherished.

Theron was a man who liked experiences. So, too, had Lana found in them the very same pleasures to be had. And between them—ones to be _shared_.

Upon the close of their well-entertained dinner, Theron had promptly excused himself from the table, leaving Lana to dally until he returned. Sitting soundly as she awaited him, her fingertips idly traced the narrow rim of her stemmed drinking glass. She mused over the trace of pale liquid collected at its bottom, a hue just a tint lighter than that of the studious pair of eyes that now beheld it. 

How right Theron was. The wine had most certainly been _delirious_ in its sweetness. And as it would seem, the taste he'd sampled from her portion was more than enough to satisfy his curiosity of its flavor. Her glass had been the only amount poured from the whole of the bottle. She replaced its cork, figuring that it'd be as much as they would consume for the remainder of that evening.

Fetching her coat from the back of her chair, Lana slipped it on over her shoulders. Her eyes looked down to tend to its closures, only to catch the offending sight of the deep red stain on the skirt of her dress, almost forgotten entirely by this part of the evening. For fear of transferring traces of it elsewhere, she then opted instead to leave her coat's closures undone. With a droll smile, she sighed as she reached for her cloche hat at the corner of the table. To think such careless hands had been the very same she herself had witnessed execute with such precision, all the unimaginable tasks and undertakings the most masterfully complex modes of slicing demanded.

Reminded of the very man in question, Lana peered about to see if there'd been any glimpse of Theron returning yet. With her sights abroad, the sudden clinking of dishware and utensils immediately drew her attention back in a start. She whirled around to see a youthful busboy tending to the remaining items on their table.

"Sorry," he smiled sheepishly and continued his task with greater diligence.

Lana released a breath of laughter, shaking her head in dismissal. How silly she'd felt. The sound of blaster fire never gave her quite such a jolt. Her eyes scanned the expanse of the room once more to find Theron still nowhere in sight. 

Continuing to idle away her time, she watched as the young man cleared the rest of the table, her empty glass of the white being the last of the items to be collected. Once again, her thoughts recounted, Theron had been so generous as to lavish her with such a gift, when she had none in return for him. 

_No_ , her conscience sounded. That would not do at all.

Just as the busboy turned to leave with his filled tray of soiled dishware, Lana called after him. "Excuse me—just a moment."

As the youth lingered at her request, she began fishing through her purse. "If you would be so kind, could you please see that our bill is taken care of as well?" she asked graciously, handing him her charge card once she'd retrieved it.

"Uh, sure..." In spite of the bright-eyed youth's eagerness to be of help, he gave a fretful pause as he peered between the card she presented him and his own full hands, both occupied with carrying the dishware bound for the kitchens.

"Hmm," he mused as he wracked his brain for a solution to avoid an extra trip for himself. "Oh, here," he sang, turning his hip toward her, "in the apron pocket."

Delighted by the youth's friendly spirits, Lana smiled as she tucked the card where he'd indicated. "Thank you."

"Not a problem, Miss. I'll be right back."

As he'd promised, the young man briskly returned with her card and confirmation of payment, which had come, to her relief, well before she'd spotted any sign of Theron returning yet. Before allowing him to resume his duties, she'd then left him with a kind word of gratitude and an offer of a modest tip, an additional amount over the gratuity she'd provided upon payment for the meal. He was a kind young lad who performed his job with diligence and care. No work was so negligible or undeserving of rightful praise and recognition. Even among the laborers of the most humble classes Lana had known, there was not one she did not yield any effort to properly thank when it'd been due.

Lana retrieved the carrying bag from the foot of Theron's vacant seat. Before returning the bottle of wine to it, she turned it about in her hand to satisfy her own observant curiosities. Other than the obvious value of the drink by the rustic make of its label, she was not familiar with this particular brand. Not that she'd held any professed expertise in wines.

"Most people associate Corellia with its whiskeys..."

So absorbed she'd become in examining the wine bottle, Lana had failed to notice Theron inconspicuously ambling back upon his return. Her gaze shot forward from the bottle's label once she'd been alerted by his unexpected voice. It would seem that he'd now effectively repaid her for the start she'd given him earlier in the evening. And as it would now appear to be more evidently so, Theron's punctuality truly had been, at best, contingent on the pure spontaneity of his whims.

He grinned to see her baffled expression, quite decided in his own presumptions of what certain curiosities she must have harbored that very moment. Although he'd gained much proficiency in his ability to read her, by no means had Lana ever shown herself to be _predictable_. 

Theron nodded at the bottle still held in her hands as he came to her.

"...But its _wines_ are apparently just as much a commodity as the hard stuff." He flashed a clever little smile as he shared this bit of trivia he'd been certain she was not aware of.

Lana shifted her eyes evasively as she slipped the bottle back into its carrying bag. "I was beginning to think I'd been abandoned," she hummed in pretended nonchalance, placing her hat back over her head with a gingerly flourish of the hand. "Considering such a blunder of a night it'd been—first, you throw your vulgar wine at me and destroy what had otherwise been one of my favorite dresses."

Theron laughed, shaking his head.

"Then you do nothing but ache and criticize the dinner. Which had been entirely on your _own_ poor choice of dish, by the way—"

"'Ache and criticize?' All I did was ask for more seasoning," he jokingly defended himself against the playful sarcasm of her tease. "I swear, you're a bigger drama queen than Trant."

"Well. Unlike _you_ , I found my dish to be thoroughly delectable. I tell you, Agent Shan—it doesn't become you to be so _dour_ all the time."

"Oh? 'Dour,' huh?" he challenged, drifting closer, face to face with her.

Lana smirked in his daring gaze. "You'll find it easier to enjoy far more things in life if you learn to let go of such trivialities."

"Yeah. I'm not taking lifestyle tips from a _Sith_. No offense."

Holding back her laughter, Lana gave a tight-lipped smile. She then took the carrying bag holding the gifted wine, unabashedly slipping its handles into Theron's fingers. Surely, she supposed, her teasing had been brisk enough of a diversion to elude the fact that she'd opted to take care of the billing herself. Not that she feared he'd have protested, but she preferred to avoid any mention of the matter entirely.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked blithely in her disarming caprice.

Theron caught her fingers within his own as she handed him the bag. "You got me carrying your stuff now, too, huh?"

"What? You'll agree that I always tip my valets _very_ generously—do I not?"

Her ruse appeared to have succeeded, much to her devilish satisfaction as she glimpsed the burgeoning smile Theron had tried so hard to conceal beneath his droll demeanor. Lana's eyes only narrowed more with her sharpened smile at the glow of her amusement.

"You're lucky I _kind of_ like you," he sneered, holding fast to his part in their little game. "Okay, Darth Tightwad. Grab your stuff," he nodded, "I'm ready to head out whenever you are."

 

* * *

 

One's departure, more often than not, begot another's arrival. Before long, Lana had drifted out of sight, and the reverie's end came once Balkar's face abruptly phased back into view. He'd slipped back to their table, unnoticed by Theron's wandering attentions, taking the liberty of plopping himself into the seat previously occupied by Lana only moments ago. His eyes briefly glanced, following where Theron's had trailed, past over his shoulder along the course she'd followed to take her leave. 

"Huh. Thought she would've left the second I got up to pee," he murmured curiously. "She, uh...need something from you there?" he asked Theron.

He blinked, furrowing his brows in confusion at his unexpected question. "What?"

"Looked like you were handing off something to her there. Just before she left?"

For a brief second, Theron's heart quickened its pace. 

"...Yeah," he spoke tersely. His saving grace had been that it was never too difficult a task for him to lie even to Balkar when he'd been so thickly influenced by drink. He'd gotten away with it on many occasions before, his assuring memory swiftly reminded him. 

"Yeah. Just a document drive." Theron disguised his hesitation with another sip from his bottle. "Wanted her to take a look at it before I stopped by later."

As though biding his time until his buzz would pass, Balkar folded his hands over the edge of the table and nodded rather sensibly. An unusual silence then filled the air between them as he appeared to grow pensive.

"So."

His offhanded murmur seized Theron's attention again.

"What...sort of stuff you think she needs to discuss with you?"

It'd been odd moments like these when Theron could not discern whether his friend meant to speak in jest or not. "What do you mean, ' _what sort of stuff_?'" he narrowed his eyes as he gave emphasis to Balkar's questionable words.

"Why do you gotta say it like _that_?" he balked. "I try to be serious and you give me crap."

Dropping his head in exasperation, Theron sighed. "Okay, fine. Sorry."

"I mean, all I'm saying is... Things have been getting kind of deep for them, haven't they?" Elaborating further on his hanging thoughts, Balkar continued, "Trant's even sent _me_ on a few joint assignments with Imperial contacts. And...I gotta say—the crap just doesn't _end_ over there."

Of all people among their half of the galaxy, Theron had known most intimately of these troubles. Such had been the matters he'd been made privy to as liaison to the Minister of Sith Intelligence.

"I get the feeling Lana's probably stretched a little thin." There'd been a discernible touch of solicitude coloring Balkar's words which did not escape Theron's notice.

"She lets Bensyn handle a lot of the load. Guy does a good job of getting things done." For a moment, Theron had been moderately surprised by how lucid Balkar appeared to sound as he expressed his sentiments. But then again, he promptly remembered that he, too, had been an agent whose reputation held just as much merit as his own. When it ever came to matters concerning their work and duties, Agent Jonas Balkar never lacked in his ability to remain observant and aware, no matter the state of mind.

Suddenly drawn by the urge to quench his thirst, Balkar reached for his forgotten beer, left along the corner of the table next to his other cleared bottles. "I don't envy 'em," he remarked plainly before bringing the drink to his lips. "One ordeal gets taken care of. Another two pop up on the other end of their borders. A lot of people getting caught in the crossfire between it all..."

"It isn't anything we haven't seen before. Republic-side, too," Theron noted in a sobering reminder of their own domestic problems, fresh enough in their memory to be far from forgotten.

Relenting in a sigh, Balkar sounded in half-hearted laughter. "Yeah. I guess. And it isn't like they weren't asking for it, right? Not to say they _deserve_ it...but..." Halted by another hesitant break, he shook his head. "It's just such a mess over there. Makes you wonder—if all that rebellion and insurgence can happen in a place like the Empire, what with all that iron-fist 'Big-Brother' government and all... I don't know. I just hope things never get out of hand _here_."

Turning his attentive gaze back across the table, he glimpsed the stark shade cast over Theron's countenance. "You know as well as I do it ain't always all milk and honey here all the time. All it ever takes is enough pissed off people to start something. Enough people with a cause. Good or bad—it doesn't matter."

The depth of Balkar's insights struck him at his core, and he'd found his thoughts reflecting upon the memory of Revan—how his ancestor's life had been a prime example of this. In his own time, he'd instigated a war in the name of his beliefs. Three centuries later, he very nearly repeated the catastrophe in a second rebellion he'd attempted to reignite. Both times, Revan claimed to have fought for a greater cause for the benefit of the galaxy. So compelling were his convictions that he'd succeeded in bringing armies upon armies into his fold. Even if only for a brief time, he'd been but a single man who'd commanded the will and faith of an entire people in solidarity. If one man had accomplished such a feat _twice_ , there'd been no doubt that another would rise to fill the void and raise the banners yet again. Each iteration always came in different colors, but all bore the same message. How much longer they could continue to number their own victories, Theron couldn't possibly foretell. And he'd remained most circumspect as to banish from mind any erroneous presumption of the Republic's supremacy.

"You know, I just saw Malcom earlier today, and...I'm gonna tell you the same thing I said to him," Theron offered in his purest display of simple, unadulterated pragmatism. His eyes met Balkar's, hanging along their mutual silence before revealing the slightest glimmer of his own lightening humor. "We don't get paid enough to be talking about this stuff during off-time."

Bawling in generous laughter, Balkar basked in his amusement both for the utter sarcasm laced in his words and for the long-awaited return of his familiar wry wit so aggravatingly absent through the entirety of the night.

"Yeah, no shit," he blithely concurred before downing the final gulp of his drink. "All right. Not tonight, huh? I think I'm okay with that." 

With renewed enthusiasm, he slammed the butt of the empty glass bottle back down against the tabletop and leisurely dropped into the back of his chair. "You know, not only should we start getting paid for this, but it should _technically_ be overtime."

A daring little smirk then tugged at Theron's lips once the mischievous thought crossed his mind. "Hey, why don't you call up Trant right now? Give it to him."

It'd taken a momentary pause as the innerworkings of Balkar's delayed mind tinkered to process his dare before he'd conceived his own response. " _Hey_ ," he drawled, narrowing his eyes at his fellow agent with a clever, knowing smile. "Yeah, okay. I see what you tried to do, there." Just as immediately as the realization struck him, Balkar's expression then grew stone-cold. "Shit, Shan. I ain't _that_ drunk."

"Yeah? So you were just being a dumbass the entire time?"

Again, Balkar stalled on a pause as though considering the insult before furrowing his brow in an unamused grimace. "Don't call me a dumbass."

_Okay. Nevermind. Guess you really are that plastered after all..._

Realizing how easily Theron's shots had been thrown, Balkar continued to sulk. "You know, it's not as fun when it's the two of us hanging out, and one of us is still sort of sober."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I'm _perfectly_ sober," he twisted his words in a tease once more. With his last indulgent laughter to be had at his friend's expense, Theron set aside his unfinished drink before moving to collect his belongings. "And...I think I'm done."

" _What_? That was like...a beer and a half!"

" _Done_ ," he returned with an emphatic look as he rose from his chair. "Got crap to do, remember?" he murmured, pulling his jacket back on.

"Oh, yeah. Right. That thing. The Lana thing," Balkar recalled with a dull mumble. "Hey—"

Theron halted and turned before his strides took him too far in his departure.

Pointing his forefinger with the conviction no one would have ever conceived of any drunken dimwit, Balkar directed a distinct, emphatic glance his way. "Say 'hi' to her for me," he winked.

Theron's expression blanched as he numbly dwelled on his silent pause. "You could've just said 'hi' to her ten minutes ago."

"You're... _very_ right," he conceded, though he'd shown to be almost unfazed by his own nonsense. " _Touché_. But not really 'cause I'm still a little buzzed right now, and it's easy to low-blow a drunk guy."

Now perturbed by a most incessant uncertainty for the state of his friend's mind, Theron brushed his hand over his face in impatient exasperation. "If your ass gets into some sort of trouble tonight—do me a favor? _Don't_ call me."

"Hey, I thought we were bros."

"I mean it. If this comlink rings tonight, and it's _your_ number that comes up—"

" _Yeah_. Yeah, I get it. Got no time for Balkar now, what with your imaginary girlfriend and all?" he muttered in a sulk. "You know, I wouldn't do this to _you_. At least not for a _fake_ girl."

"Yeah. Okay. I'm just gonna leave our conversation at that." Leaving him with a droll, unresponsive look, Theron then opted to continue on his way. "Have fun, buddy."

"You're a good man, Shan. A _good_ man. Serving the Republic off the clock like a boss!" Balkar's inappropriately loud praises hardly went unnoticed. Among the crowds of patrons around him, those nearest in proximity cringed at his drunken bellowing, while others frowned and turned their heads at his disruptive clamor.

Grinning, he swore Theron's pace only hastened at the sound of his enthusiasm. After he'd disappeared from sight, Balkar at last noticed the unfinished bottle of beer he'd left behind, still sitting at the center of the table before him. Without a single companion remaining to be entertained by, he unabashedly claimed the drink for himself, sliding it invitingly back toward his end of the table.

"Don't mind if I _do_..."

 

* * *

 

It's an odd thing. A peculiarity. A quirk—that as much as Theron has wondered and asked, Lana declines on keeping photographs. It's only a small thing, he reasons, but still. _No_ , she tells him. Though it isn't ever an adamant 'no.' In fact, she is quite sweet when she refuses, an infallible ploy of hers that never fails to divert him from his intended thoughts or questions when asked. It's a fortunate thing they have yet to meet one another at opposite ends again, he muses. As much as she jests, he is not so sure he can ever be SIS Agent Shan to Lana again. He has and will long be _her_ Theron.

He has his suspicions about why it is she is so opposed to them, but the reasons, in hindsight, still seem all too silly even at best. When he asks, she finds ways to avoid saying why. He knows Lana is nothing if not practical. Even small things like photographs can become a problem. He understands the concern of this risk, but he still believes it a bit absurd. It is already a risk in itself for them to pursue this clandestine relationship at all. Of course, Theron has absolutely _no_ regrets. He is certain as well, that neither does Lana. And because Theron is Theron, he pays little regard to the risks for the pursuit of anything that is worth his while.

Among the many words he has exchanged with Lana, there have been a miraculous few that hold a certain magnitude above others. 'No' is one Theron has come to learn the difficulty in arguing with when it is her voice that ordains it. And it is entirely due to quite _another_ that he now finds himself currently seated in the commons of Lana's dormitory suite, when he'd have otherwise been well on his way back to his own quarters after the evening's end.

_"Would you please stay a moment longer, Theron?"_

Of course, Lana has no understanding of how powerful the simple word had been.

_Please._

A single word that Theron is powerless as ever to refuse.

And _of course_ , she need not even ask.

So here Theron was, sitting in wait. Lana had gone to her room for a change of clothing, leaving him to dawdle in repose, to set his mind adrift wherever it cared to wander, as it'd been prone to do so much more often now whenever suspended in the void of her absence. 

Theron had one hand idly tucked away in the pocket of his jacket as he sat reclined into the cushions of the chair he'd occupied. When his fingers traced the silhouette of the tiny device he'd nearly forgotten had also been tucked within its folds, he paused as the gleaming, knowing smile returned to his lips. In a swift flourish of his deft hand, he held the tiny item between two fingers for his eyes to behold once again. A simple data card hardly the size of even his smallest digit. And stored within it, his most treasured little prize of the entire night. His little secret only he would ever know and have.

He recalled spotting him—the photographer. The man had been up and about, offering to take souvenir photographs for the delighted patrons in the restaurant. How Theron had observed with such fascination while he tinkered with the dials and settings of his camera. It appeared to be quite an outmoded model, even. What a novelty. 

He recalled how the man smiled at his subject, a sweet-tempered little child some tables away. His patience while he waited for just the right frame. And once he'd caught it—the moment the child's overflowing wonder had coaxed upon her timid countenance a most radiant smile of her own—he'd immortalized that still vignette of this child's life through the lens held in his two hands. Surely, the profound fascination Theron held for this simple little miracle could not be so far removed from Lana's own purviews. 

Or...perhaps she'd thought such novelties only held the fascination of commonplace simpletons.

_No._

Such conceit was most certainly not within Lana's character.

_Am I really having this discussion with myself? I'm not a simpleton._

Theron smirked at the memory. Who knew how long or how keenly she'd been observing him. Apparently, that had been exactly what she'd done before she'd made her grand arrival. And stupid him, for letting her get the jump on him _again_. Maybe she'd really been getting better at being sneaky after all. Maybe some of him really had rubbed off on her. He'd joked about it all the time, but there'd seemingly been some shred of truth to it.

_Or...maybe you're just slipping. Either way, it's all totally her doing._

With an airy laugh, he curled his fingers around the tiny data card. And of course, he had to play it off for the sake of the pride the spy in him still held to. No—there was no _way_ he'd let a Sith outdo him. Especially any named _Lana Beniko_.

Balling his enclosed fist against his lips, he continued to reflect on the course of the night thus far. And his joke. That _stupid_ little joke. The scars still hurt, it'd seemed. He'd figured that if he'd long put Rishi behind him, she'd have found it in her heart to do the same. Theron had been used to the presence of his own scars, and while some had taken their time to heal, he'd since learned to put them out of mind when they'd exceeded their allotted time. It had still been something his heart worked to become better at, but slowly, he had learned to _forgive_ —much in credit to the time he'd shared with _her_ , of all people. Funny how things worked sometimes. A _Sith_ would be the one to teach Theron forgiveness.

Though apparently, Lana had still yet to truly forgive herself. A shade began to cast its pall over his smile as the somber image of her pensive despondence came back to memory. He'd glimpsed it of her only few times before, but it'd been a face of hers he never desired to see. And he'd known at heart that her regaining smile afterwards had only been but a partial renewal. Dampened by his own faltering missteps, he'd then fallen into reticence soon after. Better to have been silent than inadvertently speak another ill-conceived word, he'd reasoned. Though for all the chastened forbearance that had stayed his words, he'd found the silence between them to have been unbearable. Unable to bring himself to look Lana in the eyes again for fear of catching her wistful sight, he'd known nothing else but to let his own gaze roam across the expanse of the room once more.

It'd been the sound of cheers and laughter that steered his attention then. His eyes followed it to another corner of the restaurant, where a larger table appeared to be reveling in some sort of celebration. _There_ , he'd spotted that photographer still making his rounds. Theron watched as he appeared to show the guests at the table the shot he'd just captured from his camera. Their subsequent smiles of approval. An exchange between him and one of the patrons before he'd handed them a small, black data card upon receipt of payment for his services. The man then shook their hands with a delighted nod before drifting off again.

After briefly inspecting his camera, the photographer raised his vigilant eyes for any other patrons he had yet to engage. That had been when he'd looked their way at last.

At first glance, Theron politely gestured a salute in acknowledgement of him. With a kind returning smile, the man then pointed inquisitively at his camera—a wordless but clear question to him across the room.

Theron did not expect this. Before his instincts had led him to decline his offer, he pressed his lips together as he quickly reconsidered. What he had known without question was that Lana would have _indeed_ declined. Assuming a most natural poise, he shifted himself in the merest manner, just enough to allow himself a discreet glimpse of her.

Nope. Her attentions had been elsewhere entirely, sitting leaned against the table, deeply pensive in her repose, it would seem.

_More_ than perfect.

At a furtive pace, Theron drew his forefinger to his lips as he turned back to the man, who still silently awaited his response. His cue had been given in the most covert manner. Along with the indicative glance he'd exchanged with him, Theron further directed the man with a briefest nod over his shoulder in his great effort to conceal his intentions.

Puzzled at first, the photographer furrowed his brows, prompting Theron to then indicate by pointing at his dining companion across the table, still taking tremendous care not to rouse her attention. Once the man's bewildered gaze discerned the other guest accompanying this strange patron to have been a most elegant, lovely young woman, he'd then understood immediately. With a private smile and a wink, the man then assumed a purposeful gait as he traversed the room in search of the best station from which to capture his next frame. 

It'd taken much conscious effort for Theron to make himself appear inattentive, all to avoid giving Lana any cause to stir in the time the photographer had taken to find his shot. Setting his patient gaze to and fro between her and the roving cameraman, his eyes would find themselves invariably drawn and fixed across the small distance of the table. The absolute, unequivocal center of all things in motion to any vantage point from which his eyes observed. 

Yes. In the end, Theron had come to see that all the lines always came to convergence here. No matter how much they'd been wound and woven through the terrain and the obstacles that labored him along the paths, they had always inevitably led him back to _her_. They'd left him no room to stray, no junctures to cross, and yes, they'd led him down difficult detours through the thickest haze more times than he could number—and he'd thought himself lost among them more times than he'd even dared begin to sum—but they had always ensured his safe return _home_.

_Home._

Home was here. Seated right before his eyes. Home was _beautiful_. Warm. Safe. Full of more belonging than words could begin to articulate. So he never said them. But it never meant that they were unspoken. Words were only a conduit, after all. One of _many_. 'Home' was only a word.

This time, she'd come coated in _white_ —a color he'd never seen dressed on her exteriors. And her covering—a hat of mild, brown _caramel_ she'd never before adorned. But the most striking to behold then, had been just the hint of deepest _red_. Like the bold, bright roses in the quiet little garden—the first of greetings to meet all who came to the doors that lied just beyond them.

Such a marveling smile the image of it all had brought upon his lips. When at the dinner's end, he'd made some excuse for a private moment and promptly left the table, gone in search of the cameraman away from her sights.

"Got a really nice one, son," the man beamed, pulling the snapshot to his device's screen to show him. "Ain't she just a doll?"

The perfect candid. Theron couldn't imagine a better image of her than just as she was.

"How much for it?"

The man gave a lively air of laughter. "Ten credits sound okay to you?"

So Theron reached into his pocket and gave him twenty and returned the man's words of gratitude with his own before accepting the memory card with the photo stored inside.

Heading back to their table, he'd then crossed by the cashier's counter. He had kept Lana waiting enough, but there'd still been one more end he'd felt he should take care of.

"Hey, excuse me," Theron addressed the woman as he hovered toward her counter. "Could I go ahead and take care of my bill here? Table nine, I think."

"Certainly," she smiled, tapping away at her screen, "Nine, was it?"

Theron confirmed with a nod.

"Hm. Well, it looks like the bill's already been paid." The woman turned her well-humored glance back to him. "Nine's all set. Guess that won't be necessary. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

How puzzling it'd been for him to hear this, when they'd only finished their meal hardly moments ago. He paused on the baffling thought and meant to ask the woman to check again. That was, until the whispering little inkling drew his gaze over his shoulder and back towards the table in question. 

_Of course she would have._

She'd appeared so perfectly casual while she minded herself, tending to her belongings. No more than five minutes, and their table had already been cleared, their things collected. Lana had seen to that, it would seem.

He'd made sure to stalk back quietly then. As adept as she'd been becoming at it herself, Theron's skill remained superior when it came to hiding his presence. When he came, he'd lingered long enough to watch her curiosity draw her ever-observant scrutiny—this time, fixed upon the bottle of wine he'd brought her. It'd been like watching a child's exploration of the small world about. And her child's eyes and curiosity never seemed to tire of even the plainest of the mundane. Theron never quite realized until moments like these how much of it remained so foreign to her.

Only meaning to sample the waters, he'd first engaged her. Then came her endearments again in all their golden warmth. Then the jests and the laughter. She'd been relentless with them this whole night. Her veiled challenge for yet another game, it would seem. So Theron determined to brave and best it, matching her mark for mark.

_'Are you ready to go?'_ he remembered her inquiring along the crest of her sweetness and smiles before the matter of the billing could even be brought up. Clever.

If it had been any other night under any other circumstances, he may not have been so chagrined by the gesture. But Theron had already determined that he'd owed this much and more to her for having completely soiled her dress—such an incomprehensible blunder he still couldn't fathom had happened. Even so, in spite of it all, Lana had gone and done this before he'd even been given a chance at a say.

If he'd have been the one to decide, he wouldn't have let her. Though his wits had then duly reminded him not to be too surprised that she'd beaten him to it, as had been habitual of her to do so. And he _had_ ruined her dress after all. He would not argue with it, so long as that mishap remained a hanging cloud over his conscience.

_Shit. Lana's dress._

The thought suddenly came over him only then that she still had not emerged from her room after having presumably gone to change out of the soiled evening dress. Theron tucked the little card back into his pocket and briefly glanced at the chrono across the room. Frowning at how much time had passed, he stirred restlessly before finally rising to his feet, drawn by his uncontainable, anxious curiosity toward her room.

He halted before the door, staring blankly at its plain face as he'd been unable to quite bring himself to step any further beyond that. It was but a simple hinged door, unlike the automated ones found at the entrances to each individual suite. Moving ahead of any conscious command, his hand drifted toward its handle, though that had been as much as he could will it to do. 

" _...Bloody thing..._ "

Hearing what he'd sworn had been her muffled exasperations from within, Theron pinched his brows curiously, pressing his ear to the door. The room seemed to fall silent again, save for the faintest sound of some rustling. This time, his solicitude had propelled his hand to move, turning the handle with utmost caution. The door crept open by just a hair at his gentle guidance, and he peered through.

Only when he'd seen that his view was obstructed within the alcove of the room's entrance did Theron dare to tread inside. In the silence of his movements to shut the door behind him, his ears had caught yet again, Lana's murmuring frustrations sounding from deeper within the room.

"Lana, are you okay in there...?" he voiced aloud. The moment he turned back around, his eyes had only glimpsed her sudden alarm far too late. Though there had been yet another sight he'd witnessed then that would draw his entire being to a numbing halt where he stood.

So absorbed she'd been in scrubbing away at the persistent stain of her dress, Lana had completely neglected the time she'd spent inside her room. The time she'd unwittingly imposed upon Theron to wait for her. 

She had come to her room with only the initial intention of changing out of her soiled dress. First slipping into the black satin robe provided with her room's amenities, Lana had paused upon catching her reflection in the refresher mirror. Following a briefest moment's consideration, she then began sifting her fingers through her hair. Fishing out the pins one by one, she set her locks loose as she'd been most accustomed to. There'd been then no reason for her cosmetics, already disrobed of her dress and her hair undone, so she'd taken another moment to clean her face of it all. It'd been liberating to be relieved of her apparel, to bask in the ease and comfort of her most natural, most simple modesty. 

She'd then momentarily recalled when she had looked upon herself like so earlier that evening, so anxious with uncertainty as she minded her appearance for Theron. She could have laughed at the triviality of it all. Theron wouldn't have cared. He _didn't_ care. After the ordeals of the night had passed, Lana could then look at her reflection, free of any restless compunctions, and smile.

But that dress, that _damned_ dress. Before she proceeded to find a change of clothing, her eyes had been unwittingly drawn by the deep red stain among the pooled white of her garment at her feet. Frowning as she picked it up from the floor, she haplessly thought to ease the blemish some, taking a dampened cloth to it as she stepped back out into her room. Falling into seat at the edge of her bed, she'd obliviously continued to scrub away at it, distracted by her inability to lighten the color by even a tinge. 

In the absentminded vigor of her scouring, she hadn't even realized when the neck of her robe had fallen from her shoulder. So she'd found herself now, seated with the unkempt mass of her dress at the far end of her bed, unprepared for Theron's unheralded entrance.

His voice, gentle and unassuming as it'd been, startled her to a gasp. The damp washcloth fell from her fingers as she whirled her head around to meet his gaze. It had only taken a moment's heartbeat for her to discern the welling consternation within his stilled eyes. _Where_ the lines of his sight had led him to glimpse.

With a ragged, trembling breath, Lana's panicked fingers clambered to find the folds of her fallen robe, even though it had been far too late. Even when it made no difference now. She hastened to cover herself, to hide away the _single_ mark she'd born that had always gripped her being in entirety by its baneful presence.

Theron only realized by the tumult of her reaction how unwelcome his gaze had been then and quickly averted them, though nothing could erase the vivid image from mind.

"S-Sorry. Sorry, Lana. I didn't mean to—I should've knocked." Stumbling over his words, he prepared his steps back toward the door.

As her fingers tightened their grip at the hems of her robe, Lana breathed a lengthy sigh in a bid to regain her composure.

"No, Theron," she uttered, "I apologize. I..."

She'd been at a loss for words. Her eyes loomed back to the dress in her lap, and she released a shaken, inward laugh.

Lana's gentle apology had barely been able to quell the fermenting discomfiture of his racing heart, but they had been enough to slow his steps to a halt. He'd done badly once that evening already; he couldn't swallow the blunder of doing wrongly yet a second time. 

It would seem that in his wallowing guilt, he'd failed to notice how withdrawn she had become in his presence, but Lana might have even preferred it that way. She would have simply willed away all of the inescapable dread if only she had the fortitude to do so. Daring to peer forth into the glass of the window's expanse before her, she'd found its filtering dark so pristine that she'd easily sighted the entirety of the room's space within its surface. Her eyes then glimpsed at its center where Theron stood watching, having stepped back from the alcove into the light of the room. Where her gaze had found his countenance, his own stared back into the very same image reflected, coinciding with hers. It'd been in that moment that she'd _known_ —there was no hiding. That he had seen with his own true eyes the poignance of her unshakable apprehension. 

Still, Lana would not stir. She averted her gaze from the glass, retreating back within the confines of her disquieted, but familiar rumination. _Yes_ , there had been a sense of safety to be found within the familiar. Or so, she had led herself to believe.

"Lana..." Theron called gently, as though to coax her from the solitary dolor she'd stonewalled herself within.

"—Well, there won't be saving this dress, it seems." With affected humor, she forced the remark in order to halt his intended thought, though her waning smile had made her attempt to divert his attentions all but fruitless. 

Rising from the seat of the bed, she circled around it, draping the soiled dress over the back of a nearby chair as she passed it. She kept her gaze downcast, still unable to bring herself to meet his own even with the remaining distance of the room dividing them.

In the physical space between them, Lana only stood by mere footfalls away. But as Theron's gaze lingered across the sparse distance, those impossible steps may well have been entire galactic expanses. The merest stirring of her restive fingers drew his eyes. They'd been left tightly wound at the hems of her satin robe, excessively clenching the garment into wrinkles at its closure.

The look she had given him the moment she'd turned at his voice. Like _terror_. And like the most instinctive of her bodily impulses, how desperately she'd hastened to hide it from him. The unimaginable wound. That _inhuman_ scar he had very nearly forgotten she'd born upon her being. 

As Theron now searched her withering countenance, he could see that the same desolation had not loosened its grip of her. Her unwilling gaze, turned anywhere but toward his own. Her sunken frame, where he could glimpse the frailty of her waning fortitude from her quaking hands, through all the layers to the heavy core of her heart. Her pale smile, drained of all the color his eyes had memorized of it, held so dearly by the arms of a despairing mother cradling an inconsolable child. Until it'd been gone completely.

"Theron, please... _don't_ ," Lana's coarse voice uttered. "Don't look at me like that."

He stepped closer, but came no farther than a single pace when he saw her shrink away.

"Lana, I don't understand. What's the matter?"

Despite being implored to, he refused to leave her be in such a state. When it seemed she couldn't bring herself to speak another word, he beckoned her again.

"...Is it...your _scar_?" Theron furrowed his brows, unable to comprehend what about it had suddenly overwhelmed her so. "But you...you showed it to me before. I don't get..." 

Shaking his head, he tried to make sense of it. There had been something profound that eluded him, and he needed to know _what_ it was.

" _I know_ ," she forced from her depleted breath, shutting her eyes tightly as she tried to gather what strength she could to speak. Such a storm of emotions and only mere, incomprehensible particles of scattered thoughts, she was uncertain if she could at all remain coherent enough to speak any of it. And how she desired _so_ to speak them. She would not willfully subject Theron to the torment of _not_ knowing.

"...I know I have...but..." she continued haltingly. She parted her lips with the elusive words just beyond her. Finally, she opened her eyes and swallowed, though she could not bring herself to turn her gaze forward. She couldn't bear to see the bewildered anguish on Theron's face, knowing that all of his present remorse and misgivings had been inflicted by her own doing.

Lana simply could not explain the gripping trepidation that held her heart completely seized. She had never foreseen, had never been _prepared_ for it—Theron's gaze, Theron's response. Before, she had shown him but a glimpse of this fragment of her being, and of her own volition. There had been a distinct part of herself she'd meant to share with him that time. She was not prepared to bear his gaze witnessing it in entirety now, so far beyond what she had been ready or willing to impart.

Theron's gaze had brought with it all the very things this mark had been in constant reminder of—the lament, the bereavement, the heartache. To have seen it all through his mere gaze, begetting the cycle of despairing woes and wretchedness between one another that she _knew_ she could not endure. Her resolve had simply not been enough for her to dare face it.

"I'm sorry. I just..." Lana murmured incoherently, shaking her head. As she shrank beneath the weight of her conscience, her hands drew her robe even tighter around herself.

As willful as she'd been in forcing her eyes away, Theron's own remained unremitting. He watched her with all the world's patience, refusing to retreat from where he stood. Though there had been a sea of words he wished to say, to assure and relieve her of the ailments that had left her so mortally impaired, he would stay them for fear of deepening the fractures already splintering her brittle resolve. Even if she would not look to him, he softened his gaze, as though it would be just enough to compel her words to come.

Lana's next breath came harshly from her lungs. Like a profane laugh in self-mockery of her own reprehensible weakness. The indignity of it all. It'd seared her being more than she could ever imagine, so much so that she'd have thought to ignite within its flames where she'd stood. If only the Force were so merciful.

"...You know when you... When, um..." Lana willed with all her being to force the failing words from her breath. "...The matter of...of Rishi."

_Rishi_. Again. Hearing her bare mention of this left Theron guilt-ridden as he inwardly berated himself even further for his earlier imprudence. His jaw tensed as he braced himself to hear what Lana had meant to say.

"I just... It reminded me again. Of so many things. _All_ the things..."

There'd been little sense he could make from what he discerned of her trailing words, but he'd understood that there was something imperative that she'd meant to communicate. Seeing her struggle so, when articulation had _never_ been a shortcoming of Lana's most innate peculiarities, Theron scoured his mind for how he might best help reawaken her voice. But all his heart could bear to do was remain silent and open until she'd found it.

"There are things, Theron," she uttered. "Things I can't forget. Or take back." 

Lana's countenance withered so that she'd appeared almost on the verge of tears as she forced herself to continue. 

"And... Believe me. Please—I never meant to abandon you on Rishi. I _never_ —"

"— _Lana_."

Theron spoke her name in a bare whisper, hardly a sound above her own. It had been beyond him to think that she had still been so anguished by her regret for such a thing. A matter he had long forgiven and forgotten.

" _No_."

Like an utter rejection. The simple word rang from her lungs so lucidly. With _only_ this single word, she pleaded silence from him, so he obeyed and quieted himself.

Another deepened breath. An attempt to draw life back into her lungs and her voice.

"I just... I couldn't _fail_. And it was the only way...the only way I could think of..." Lana pressed her lips together after losing the trail of her intended thought. "I was _afraid_."

The picture remained unfocused in his mind's eye, but he'd begun to at least discern the blurred edges and outlines. However, the incomprehensible jumble of undefined shapes and blended colors confounded him, their meaning still just beyond his grasp.

"Afraid of _what_ , Lana?" he gently questioned when there seemed no more she would say. He allowed another moment's pause for her to regain the heart to speak, but nothing came.

"Lana, if this is about the Revanites—"

Her expression betrayed her languishing fortitude as she stood reeling only a footfall away from the crumbling precipice. She pressed her lips together and gave a tightened shake of the head. 

"Then _what_? What, Lana? What is it?"

Even the delicate pitch of Theron's solicitude could not hide the urgency within his beckoning tones to _comprehend_. How troubling it had been to see nothing of her discerning stoicism, the refined and willful temperance that had been so habitual of her character. The woman before him had been a whole other he had never seen, so fragile and infirm of resolve, perilously treading in the deep of her own failing spirit. It had simply rent his heart to witness this. Though he'd only now begun to realize her most intimate and unspoken vulnerabilities, there'd been a part of him that had always sensed its lingering presence. Like a ghostly apparition, it'd passed in mere glimpses of such diaphanous shades, his failure to take notice of it had come as no surprise. But regardless, this left him no less rueful of his own unforgivable negligence.

"Lana," he urged once more, "what is it...?"

Though these ailing vestiges had always been a familiar presence in her heart, she'd never once felt any great need or compelling desire to articulate the unintelligible maelstrom. There had never been anyone else to know other than herself. Never until now.

"I _hate_ these scars," Lana's brittle voice breathed. "Always... _always_ reminding."

Of her weakness. Of her mortality. Of the very real possibility that she shall one day _fail_. Fail herself. Fail those whom she lived to serve and protect. The almighty Force knew she'd already sampled its bitter taste. This remnant was the remainder of all these inflicted wounds. Physically healed, but forever a disfigurement to bear on her being. A _penance_.

Locked in the tempestuous battle within, she resolved to overcome herself, even if only enough to simply speak. Theron had glimpsed it, he had questioned her of it, and she'd _known_ she couldn't possibly continue to disclaim its existence now. 

"Are you ever afraid, Theron?" she asked in such a barren whisper. "Of what can happen? If you realize you're not strong enough? And you might _fail_."

The culmination of her undying faith and resolute devotion—amounting to nothing. She'd witnessed such misfortune upon others more times than she could ever remember.

"Failure by death. Mine. Yours..." 

Lana's voice trailed into silence, her following, dry swallow arid against in her throat. All things seemed easier in the face of desperation. Upon the unthinking came the words.

"What terrifies me isn't dying. It's knowing what you'll _lose_." 

Loosening herself from the last impediments of her conscience, she blinked her eyes in search of clarity. Slowly allowing them to rise, she turned her gaze forward until Theron's came into view. It'd been nowhere else but within his own where she had at last found it. So she looked straight to him, unhindered, beckoning for an answer. One she'd sensed at heart did not exist in any degree of certainty. But in her dying desire to simply _know_ , she asked him anyway.

"What _happens_...?"

Such an innocent question. Theron wondered if Lana had any idea how difficult of one it truly was. It'd almost been comical—that even the ones so conversant with the Force dwelled on the very same mortal thoughts and existential qualms as any other being. 

_Of course_. 

Life and death and their consequences were the same for _all_. 

Lowering his eyes, he contemplated how to best answer. There were so many words he could speak, but of the multitudes, which had been the ones that could bring her the most comfort? What had Theron been able to offer her that would quell her greatest despair? He was no healer. His hands had never been disciplined to treat or repair that which had been damaged. If anything, he'd been far more proficient with the very opposite.

Truly, Theron did not know what had been the correct thing to do. But when had he ever? He'd always done as his intuition bid. All he had on his hands to offer were his words. His heart. And he could only hope that they would suffice.

Theron breathed, his lips revealing a most tenuous little smile as he returned his eyes to her.

"I've got them too, you know."

Upon his plainspoken whisper, he glimpsed within her a merest, almost indiscernible shift. Though her fingers remained tangled in the cloth of her robe, they no longer stirred with such unease. He could see the breaths returning to her lungs, slowly carrying life back to her stagnant frame. Little by little, it'd reanimated her, stirred her to move. He watched as Lana took her first tentative step toward him. Then the next, and the next following until she'd stopped only mere paces before him. He watched as her lips subsequently parted before daring to utter the lingering question suspended upon them.

"Where are _your_ scars...?"

Only when she'd come close enough could Theron also glimpse the gentle regard behind her widened gaze, bearing the same solicitude he'd revealed to her. His dear, _sweet_ Lana. How effortlessly she could bear her intentions so wholly within the purity of a simple glance. And to think he'd once deemed her gaze so hollow, so elusive, bereft of any warmth or feeling to be had. It'd shamed him to know just how blind his prejudice had led him to become. How willing he'd been to believe the worst of dearest Lana. 

_No. Never again._

Theron drew a deep breath before proceeding to remove his jacket, letting it fall to the floor at his feet. He'd then undone the buttons of his shirt and loosened his tie, discarding them as well. Untucking his undershirt from the waist of his pants, he then pulled it up and over his head, tossing it away with the other garments.

Watching as he'd done this, Lana felt the sudden, flushing warmth rush through her being, but just as quickly, it'd receded again with her halting breath once her eyes glimpsed what he'd intended to show her. _His_ scar. The mark Theron bore on his own body.

Something within her then compelled her forth, to walk the last measure of distance, to reach toward him until her fingertips found his flesh. Her touch had been but a softest brush, tender in its care against his marred skin. Lana could not quite discern the nature of this wound, but it had undoubtedly been a traumatic one indeed. 

Where she had been hesitant where her fingers grazed, Theron remained unflinching in his silent invitation for her to look and touch as she desired. To see that, like him, there had been nothing for her to be ashamed or afraid of. And for all the patience she had given him countless times before, he would gladly return it all in this single moment—as much of it as she required. Lana gently pressed against the wound until her palm covered it whole. With her next breath came a quelling stillness within her. There'd been no other sensation then. Nothing else but the lull of Theron's steady heartbeat beneath her hand.

It had been a relief for him to see her calm. Where Lana had seemingly become immersed with his scar, his attentions remained solely on her. He gazed down on her countenance to see within her sympathetic eyes such tender remorse. 

"They had to give me artificial implants. To keep my heart working," he explained in a plain voice, drawing her gaze back to him. "My cybernetics help regulate them."

Seeing her sinking expression, he offered a wry smile. "Not exactly all bad... If my heart ever stops for any reason, the implants know to give it a jolt to kick-start it back up." Of course, the ease of his nonchalant tone did nothing to assuage her grief. 

"It's only happened once before," he tried to assure her. Theron's hand then searched for her own, clasping it within hold where it'd lain at his heart.

"It was...one of the biggest fuck-ups in my life. And it terrified me, too. But, you know. Almost losing it all—it really makes you _realize_. Makes you understand how much it all matters. You die. And just like that, there goes everything. And same as you, I also realized what I was _really_ afraid of. That when you're gone, there goes everything you could have done. There goes everyone who depended on you. Everyone who _cared_. Lana, I get it."

How profanely clear it'd seemed now. Their meeting. Their actions. All their choices and decisions. It'd now been clear to him what his _purpose_ had been, knowing that he could decide as he willed with a clear conscience because of her presence in his heart. Theron would do it all, always, with her in mind. 

_Everything for Lana._

He would conspire with fate and its workings within the universe to preserve their world—for themselves, and by extension, for all those whose lives held a stake among their own. By seeing and understanding what it was that meant most to him, Theron now gained sight of what everything meant to all else like them. He and Lana were most certainly two of a kind, but they'd been among a whole shared universe of others whose existence was just as extraordinary. _Everything_ mattered. _Everything_ held inherent meaning and purpose.

This may well have been as close to the Force's divine enlightenment as he might ever come, but it'd been as much as he could possibly have required of it. On some profound level deep within his heart, Theron knew this had been a vision of clarity beyond anything any other had ever tried to impart to him. Greater than that of the Jedi's collective wisdom. Greater even than Master Zho's own faith. This had been something he'd discovered for himself, the very sentiment that had been designed _only_ for him to unearth and shape into his own being.

"That...dread. That fear. That you're no good, that you're too weak, too small..." With profound understanding, Theron quietly uttered his following words. "Because you've sunken so close to the bottom before..."

Though Lana had wanted so for his words to lift her heart, they'd done little more than to echo all the very sentiments that had been drowning it from the moment of his intrusion. As her gaze sank, so too would her hand have fallen from where it'd lain against him, had it not been for his own tightening around it.

"...It's no reason to hide away. And I know it's what you've been doing. For a _long_ time. Yeah, I can tell." Having done the very same to himself long before, the signs she'd shown had been all but unmistakable to him. 

"But you shouldn't. You _can't_. I mean, you're right here."

Lifting her hand from his heart, Theron then pressed it to his lips. "I've got your hand _right_ here."

Lana's fingers loosened within his grasp the moment he kissed them. His gesture had been enough to stir her breath, but little more.

"I won't pretend. Yeah...I'm fucking _terrified_. All the time, Lana. But it doesn't stop me."

_Because you're right here._

"Because you're right here," his softened voice echoed what he'd spoken in his heart. 

In spite of his assumed bravery and resolve, his smile grew bitter, betraying the truth of his profound fears. But just as he'd declared, he would never deny them. He would not fool himself. He would not fool _her_. Theron envisioned how far he'd been willing to tread, how long he would follow the lines of their path. Even without the knowledge, without the certainty of where they would lead or what outcome they would bring him.

"I'll take on the fucking universe. I'd probably die. But I think I can be okay with it." He then gave a wry sputter of laughter. " _Yeah_ ," he nodded. Though she couldn't see it with her downcast gaze, Theron looked straight to her with an assured smile. "You're with me."

This had been all the reason he needed. He would go forth in complete spite of all his fears because he'd known he had all that was needed to make his time, however brief, full with meaning and purpose.

"Hey," Theron whispered, brushing his hand against her face, only to see her shy away once again. He knew she had only done so because she'd wanted desperately to hide the tears that had not yet come. He loathed to see her weep, but this had been yet another thing she need not ever be ashamed of. 

" _Hey_. Lana," he gently coaxed again. Cupping his hand at the nape of her neck, he urged her not to turn away from him anymore. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, she'd done as he bid her to, only able to manage a somber gaze as she turned to him. Though she'd indeed been so close to tears, the sight of Theron's calming, reverent eyes gazing back and the gentle, assuring smile he bore stayed them. Lana simply could not weep when she looked upon his face like so. She sank deeper into his hand, deeper into the tenderness of his touch, allowing its guidance to usher her closer.

"It's an ugly memento, I know," he spoke faintly with each stroke of his fingers. "But it reminds you—no one is invincible." 

It would seem only now that the realization had just as well settled within his own heart. Upon his discovery of it, Theron found himself coming to a place of certainty, and with it, his own _peace_.

"And it's okay," he smiled, "because _no one_ is invincible. But that's why we're _here_ , right? It's why you're here. It's why I'm here."

Feeling her reluctance slowly wane, Theron's hands softened where they'd held her.

"It's why I'm _here_."

_With you._

Lana understood the meaning behind all that he meant to share. Just as she'd done before, he, too, meant to impart these pieces of himself to her. Of all people, _he_ would be the man who could make a fool of Death, to show her that at the front of its towering shadow had been but a _small_ thing. That her mortal weaknesses meant nothing. He would tell her that she was as breakable as every other living being, just as capable of failure and of suffering, and in the same breath, convince her that it had all been the greatest might she'd held in her own two hands.

_He_ would be the man who could draw her within his arms, when she had spent the greater length of her life keeping all others just outside of reach. That in the face of her own professed fears—of the void left behind in the wake of Death, he would step forth and stand right in its path beside her. He would fill its space and _dare_ it move him from it.

As she'd once sworn to herself, she would walk where Theron's hands led her. She'd already taken them into her own and resolved never to let go. And only he, in this moment of weakness when her heart threatened to break and shatter completely—only _he_ could continue to hold her high and remind her of the strength to be found in those same small hands.

She'd never known where Theron meant to take them. She wasn't sure that he had ever known himself. But when she'd glimpsed upon his face—his _eyes_ —she'd seen now, that they'd always looked afar. It didn't matter where. Everywhere. To _all_ directions. 

What had it been that his eyes sought? How she'd longed to know. To know what light, what passions, what yearning stirred him so as to draw him across the very universe toward a destination so far beyond his sights.

Lana glimpsed the tender affection of his endearing smile, always unfailing in its capacity to persuade. More so than even his words.

"So we've both got some patches of bad, messed up skin..."

She was _beautiful_ , he wanted to tell her.

"...The worst scars are usually the ones we _don't_ see..."

_Always._

But there'd been no more words Theron cared to speak then, knowing they would be woefully insufficient. So he would _show_ her.

Theron brushed his fingers across her face, tracing the gentle contours to her neck, to her shoulder. When he'd seen that she no longer withdrew from his touch, he followed them beneath the hem of her robe, and with most delicate care, eased the silken cloth away. Like water, the folds fell from her skin, pooling at her feet.

As the sudden chill of the air against her bare flesh seized her next breath, Lana snapped her eyes shut. She'd felt the demure reticence within compelling her to hide, but she refused this time. She would let his touch ward away all her lingering doubts. Even the cold soon melted beneath his hands, drawing her close until the entirety of his being enveloped her. Lana's own pressed against him, unconsciously finding once again the place where his heart lied. Just as her fingers brushed over his marred skin, he trailed his own from her waist to the curve of her back as he took her into his arms. And when his hands then traced her disfigured flesh, Lana no longer withered from his touch.

From within the entwined arms of their shared embrace, their lips had been next to meet. Then their hands. His, gently ushering her back until she'd fallen into her bed. Hers, drawing him down to lie with her. And from their hands, they'd explored every inch of each other, until everything fell together. Until everything touched and became _whole_.

She would let herself forget the Sith, forget the Empire and the Republic and all the woes of the galaxy, forget where the lines are drawn, only remembering at that moment where they coincide— _here_. Between her and the only other man in existence.

And he would follow—losing himself in the moment, in the feeling, the experience. The present is the only reality that his heart cares to know. This moment. _Here_. With her.

For this brief time—the first of _many_ —they would let each other become lost within one another. Abandon the world and simply _feel_. It is in this space where they may. In _this_ space where they find the safety to do so. Their lament is shared by the passing time, for even within the most secret and sacred spaces, time never ceases. Time only becomes even more precious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **(Part II to be posted within the next week or so! :)**
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> 
> Whoo! First update of 2016!! So...hello again, friends! Hope everyone's year has been going well. ^_^
> 
> So, I guess as usual, I tried at something a little experimenty and different again for this chapter, lol. Tinkered a lot with the idea of contrast—in the characters, the POV, narrative structure/style, etc. Haha, I'm honestly not sure how well it turned out... 
> 
> And you guys probably could see, I played a little with some brief tense shifts sprinkled around in this chapter. That was definitely a kind of...nutty, spur of the moment, for-funsies thing, lol. It really just started as idea blurbs, and for some reason I'd written a few blips using present tenses...'cause...my brain's special...? I ended up really liking how bits of it sounded (some of it just didn't quite feel the same written in past). I don't know! Was it strange? Kinda working? Kinda...not? 'What the hell were you thinking, NEVER do this again'? Lol. Again, not sure how well any of it had been executed. If...anyone cares to share their thoughts/opinions? ^_^ It's probably just a one-time attempt (this and a liiittle bit more in upcoming Part II). But, who knows! If it wasn't a total disaster, I might revisit it. :D
> 
> I do hope the flow and consistency in this one didn't take too much of a dive, though. Since I'd taken such a long time on this one, a lot of chunks were written out of sequence (which is actually totally a weird normal thing for me). And over such a long duration, I did find some difficulty picking parts of it back up between long breaks and stuff. It's such a small...'nuancy' kind of thing, I'm not sure if much of it had gotten ironed out in the revisions. Oh well...I done mah best... :/
> 
> As always—thanks so much to everyone who's been amazingly awesome and kind enough to leave a comment/kudo! ^_^


	8. Cradle of the Horizon (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaannd...a GIANT dose of virtually uninterrupted Theron x Lana coupley fluffness ahead! ^_^ *waves arms in the air while running around in a circle* Presenting, Part deux!
> 
> (Sorry, I said a few 'weeks' for this update, didn't I? Lol...the revisions took a lot longer than I estimated to finalize... ^_^ Anyway, I do hope it was worth the wait for everyone! Enjoyyyy!)

** Cradle of the Horizon **

**_-Part II-_ **

 

Even as she lingers in the place between slumber and the dawn, she _remembers_. The sensation remains only in traces at first, until the colors swell. Until they become vivid again in her mind.

The sensation of his hands. Of his lips. Of his skin, of his hair—of his very whole being lain against hers, entwining with hers. Reshaped and reformed until they'd been matched, unmade, and coalesced until there'd been no more boundaries. No beginning or end.

What she remembers most vividly were the seconds before slumber. His love did not end after love-making. Even in their descent back unto the planes of the still-moving time and space, he did not release her. No. His arms only tightened their embrace around her.

She remembers how he stopped to look at her. How she, too, peered back into his eyes, and how her own had very nearly come to tears again that same night. Until he fell back onto her, as though he'd meant to shield her from her own sorrows and lament. So reverent she remembers his gaze had been. So full of compassion. So full of _condolence_. 

She remembers his face against hers as he drew her entire being back into his arms. The warmth of the breath he'd given remains still, its lasting mark undisturbed along the bare flesh of her neck. If not for the certainty of her senses, of the palpable, perceivable _truth_ —that he had been real, that the proof of his presence had been right there at her fingertips, beneath her palms, within her very grasp—she _knows_ she'd have surely wept.

There are no dreams that she can recall. Only slumber. She ponders on what their absence signifies, if it means that they are no longer necessary. After all, the very visions imparted by them have now come to manifest in her reality. One now shared with _him_. How many instances she has seen him in the distance of her dreams—and now he has come within reach, come into her own arms.

All this remains vivid in her waking visions, but when she opens her eyes to the light of the dawn, he is not there. She blinks away the weariness from her addled sights, as though it may simply be a deception of fatigue. The space beside her is void of any body to be found, and she is awakened by the looming vestiges of the dread amidst the solitude. She rises, steering her gaze about, but still—she finds no trace of him. 

It is in this moment that the silence brings her attention to the climbing pace of her heart. Her gaze sinks as the darkening apprehension begins to set upon her. Twilight has never been so frightening to her as it is this very moment. It is the indelible harbinger of the darkness to come, and she has never before found any reason to _fear_ the dark. 

_...Until one has glimpsed the light._

Until one has seen what it was to witness the world illuminated by it.

Her mind traces the words shared between them in the past night. He'd assured her—given her his _promise_. It had been _his_ words that persuaded her from her despair. She dares not think it, but she now fears that he has taken his departure, that he has _abandoned_ her.

_You foolish little thing. What have you done to yourself? You did this. You_ allowed _this. Why? Why has he gone...? Why has he—_

And it is the stirring sound of the door that halts the rebellious disruption of her thoughts, the blossoming dread withering to ashes as soon as its seeds are sewn. In a haste, she returns beneath the covers just as she'd lain and listens. The following footfalls are deliberate and discreet, but she knows without a lingering doubt to whom they belong. The assurance quells her restless heart, and she closes her eyes to feign sleep.

When the steps are carried closer to her bedside, she can hear the effort given to dampen their sounds even against the soft carpet. But as careful as he is, he fails in the same subtlety when he comes to return beneath the covers. She must discipline herself against the merest whisper of a smile, feeling the weight of his full being sinking into the folds beside her. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot mask the effects of gravity, her wily thoughts muse.

"Theron...?" she murmurs as she slowly opens her eyes again. She is certain he believes her display by the way he looks at her. Seeing his hesitation, she shows her smile only after he reveals his own. Her heart swells when she feels his hand tracing her face.

"Hey," he greets her in a whisper. There is a hint of lament in his voice for thinking he has disturbed her. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

She hums a most gentle laugh just for him when she closes her eyes again. How silly he is for apologizing. How perfectly endearing. 

"Good morning," she finally greets him back.

It is then, when she searches for the comfort, for the security offered by his presence again, when she begins to realize how _cold_ his fingers are to the touch.

_He's been outside._

She is urged to reach for where it is lain against her face with such care. She recalls how his larger, rougher hands have always felt around hers and notes in her amusement how inadequately her own little palm covers his.

"Your hands are freezing," she remarks in a barest hush once she opens her eyes back to him.

The realization appears to dawn on him only after she mentions it, and he reflexively curls his fingers away from her face in his sudden remorse. "Oh, sorry—"

His fluttering reticence makes her want to laugh, but she settles on the gentle, waxing smile still worn on her countenance. She does not wish to disturb the waters upon which they lie, so she does not ask of him where he has gone. Instead, she offers him the assurance of her presence, just as he has done for her. Firmly entwining her fingers with his, she presses his cold palm back down against the warmth of her flesh.

Watching as he slowly relieves himself from his stillness, she likes to imagine it is the warmth of her touch that softens him once he finally relents and eases back beneath the covers beside her. In a bid to banish away the lingering cold, she pulls their covers higher past their necks. 

As if prompted by her stirring, she feels him draw himself closer toward her. She doesn't move, allowing him to come as near as he wishes, as close to her as needed. There have been only few times she can recall feeling such comfort. So she closes her eyes to bring upon herself the reverie of her memories. No hand has ever felt so gentle as his. No man's touch ever so tender. No heart held so close to her own that it warms her entire being to the very core. There is simply no comparison.

There is little else she can recall beyond this, but she is content with that. No prayer, no enlightenment of clarity has ever revealed to her such consummation as this. The remnants, the merest solitary _whisper_ of what her heart recites is all that is required, all it ever takes for her to feel the Force itself rushing back from barren silence.

She would willingly welcome slumber once more, welcome the advent of dreams to come in its wake, if not for the overwhelming draw of the present, always ferrying her senses back from its realm. No. It would seem, now, that the dreams have become outmoded. Inadequate. For the visions that they'd imparted to her have already come to pass. She feels no more yearning for a mere substitute. In its place, set by the universe's propelling motions, is the fully embodied reality the culmination of all her dreams have long heralded.

 

* * *

 

Lana's eyes peered from the screen of her datapad once alerted by the gentle knocking on her door. A bit later than she'd expected. Unsurprising. With a droll smile, she rose from her chair and crossed her room to answer it.

On the other side, he'd waited until the door slid open, revealing to him the prize for all the patience he'd diligently given in the entirety of that night. His eyes first traced her expectant smile as her gaze silently greeted him. They then watched as she set down the datapad still held in her hand onto the nearby end table, trailing the path of her fingers as they delicately glazed across the screen to shut it off. The language of her familiar gesture was clear—this was not the time for work. In the light of his passing mischievous thought, Theron at last smiled.

"So what's this whole thing about you trying to read my mind...?" he droned, revisiting the little jest she'd been cornered by earlier that evening.

"You do enjoy clinging to your grudges, don't you, Agent Shan?" she hummed in coy nonchalance. "If you _must_ know..." 

Spotting a speck of lint along the edge of his collar, Lana reached to pluck it away. Her eyes then noted the shade of his shirt, a different color from the plainer one he'd worn earlier. So he'd taken the time to return to his room for a change, she mused. In this afterthought, her senses had also then caught a whiff of the mild cologne that'd been noticeably absent before as well. In her passing amusement, she smiled to herself. She may well just forgive him for his tardiness after all.

"...I was curious," she murmured, recalling the memories of her initial encounters with him. "At first—to know _who_ you were. What sort of man Theron Shan was." 

As ever, Theron's attentions couldn't stray when she'd spoken to him like so. The ease of her dulcet tones. The sight of that wickedly endearing smile. And taking him completely unaware, he then felt her slender fingers slide over his own, only a sample of the touch—a prelude to the embrace to be shared in due time. Oh, how Lana knew to _tease_. 

"And when it'd seemed like I'd gotten to know you, I grew curious of your heart." 

Theron's responsive fingers drew her gaze to their hands. 

"Your thoughts." 

She let his stirring knuckles graze beneath her fingers' touch before entwining them. 

"How you felt. Towards _me_."

Meeting his eyes once again, she looked to him in earnest. Though she'd gleaned the answers from him long ago, there remained vestiges of uncertainty beneath it all that she simply could never completely dispel. Of course, Theron could not know this. She compelled herself to smile once again, one meant to mask any visible trace of the doubt she wished so deeply would simply take leave of her heart once and for all.

"Did you trust me? Did you find my company agreeable?" Lana's mirth returned as she recalled to mind the words of their earlier conversation. "Did you find me _likeable_...?"

In the sublimely bittersweet moments such as these, Theron's only weapon to ward away the looming clouds had been his wit. With his ever uncompromising smile, he brought his hand to cradle her by the neck and drew her close until their brows met. This had not been a tender gesture as he'd often meant for it to be. The unexpected absurdity of it all brought an inelegant grin to Lana's lips as she'd been brought stumbling into him.

"What are you doing?" she inquired inanely, trying to contain her laughter.

"Go ahead. Give it another try."

"What?" Lana questioned, still baffled by what he'd meant.

"Take a peek. Try reading me now."

Theron's insistence had been clear by his unyielding, firmly placed hand. Quietly, she relented and proceeded to humor him, shutting her eyes and quelling her mind as she made an earnest effort to reach across the boundaries through the Force as he urged.

"Anything yet?" he murmured, following an extended strand of silence.

As ever, she'd reached and grasped at the seeming void to no avail. Lana couldn't be sure at this point if he'd simply meant to tease her the entire time.

"Are you even going to _try_ and make this fair?"

Rumbling in his amusement, Theron shrugged. "Hey, it was worth a shot. Not like I can turn it off." Donning a clever little smirk, he then eased his hand to release her. "But you can't say I didn't give you a chance."

"Don't be _smart_." 

Crossing her arms, Lana narrowed her eyes in a sharpened smile to match his own. Once the preliminary humor of their exchange settled their moods, she gave him a single inviting nod, stepping from the doorway to clear the path for him. 

"Come inside."

Gliding across her room, Lana first tended to some of her belongings at her desk. Fussing with her strewn files and notes, she paused momentarily in a brief lapse of memory as to what her nagging mind knew had been noticeably missing.

"Looking for something?" Theron asked from where he remained lingering by the door.

"I could have sworn..." she mumbled to herself, slowly recounting her steps until the pathway had drawn her attention back toward his direction. Finally spotting the item in question lain right where she'd left it only moments ago, she rolled her eyes with a blithe laugh. 

"Would you be a dear and bring my datapad over, Theron?" she asked in a sweetened pitch before turning back to the task of straightening up her disheveled workspace.

Without a peep, he did as requested and collected it from the end table beside him. The amusement of the moment's brief pause had very nearly eclipsed the less apparent thought that it was quite unlike Lana to be so readily absent-minded, especially in the quieter, leisurely moments like these. Had her forgetfulness not been for something so minor, he may have thought more of it. However, there'd been far more pressing sentiments that occupied his mind now, none of which pertaining to their work matters in the slightest.

"I honestly wasn't expecting you until much later," she hummed as she shuffled her documents. A minute lie, of course. She wouldn't have him know how eager she'd been for his long-awaited visit. Though just as soon as the words were sung, they'd been as easily halted the moment she felt his hands encircle her waist from behind. Her entire being would fall as still as her voice once she felt their familiar, delicate brush grazing the bare skin of her neck and shoulder.

These gentle hands had been familiar indeed—the pathways his fingertips had taken as they slipped beneath the neckline of her sweater, the meticulous care they'd given as he peeled its knitted fibers away until the chilled air of the room tickled her still-warm flesh beneath it. He then cast the garment aside as needlessly as the datapad he'd been tasked to bring to her. Even more familiar was the electrifying sensation left by the touch of his lips left where his fingers had trailed only moments prior.

_Just a sample._

And just like that, he'd withdrawn, leaving the cool air to continue teasing her scorching skin in his stead. Left thoroughly unsatisfied, Lana's eyes peeled open again. She exhaled the breath her lungs had seized in utmost silence, collecting herself before daring to turn and let her eyes meet his. 

_Oh_ , that sweet, ingratiating smile. She would meet his play with one of her own. So she, too, brimmed in all her inviting affections. Just for him.

" _Hello_." 

Lana whispered her greeting with all the caprice of her most reserved and endearing mischief. Ushered by his gentle lead, she turned in his arms until she stood facing him, where he would, at last, give her his first proper greeting of that entire night. Such greetings never came in spoken words. They were brief but effective, and always held an infallible ability to leave her breathless and in wanting of _more_.

"You know, this is exactly why I am so sick of only being able to get some of those in on the occasional shared lift rides..." Theron murmured, reverting back to his sardonic tendencies to temper the surmounting swells beneath the surface before they overwhelmed. _Patience_ had brought him thus far through the night, and he must not bend so soon. And surely not before seeing through to their game's end.

"What?" Lana flashed a tease of a smile. "Stealing kisses behind lift doors isn't good enough for you anymore?"

"I only get—what—twenty-five seconds? Forty, _tops_ , if it's a crapload of floors. And that's ' _if_ ' it doesn't stop along the way for a bunch of tagalongs." As if hinting to a detail only she would know so intimately, Theron's smile shifted in its tastes. "I like to take my time."

"Always patient where it counts." Lana left him little more than a devilish little grin in return. "And how may drinks have _you_ had tonight?" she teased, reminded of the very first time she tasted the familiar flavor on his breath. Although this time, the lingering trace of liquor had only been but a faint sample by comparison.

Theron let his head hang forward against her shoulder as he laughed. "Not as many as you think." Glimpsing her seemingly unstirring gaze, his smile broadened. "I swear."

As he slipped away, he withdrew his hands from where they'd rested before idly pacing across the room. Between the strides his feet had taken, his eyes leisurely inspected the arrangement of Lana's temporary living space. Like all hotel rooms, it'd been almost identical to that of his own quarters only several floors away. 

If it had been convenient, Theron would have preferred to simply stay at his own residence. Only when he'd expected to tend to extended duties within the Senate District did he take to staying at various lodgings as he did now. He'd never been thrilled by the idea of making any unnecessary commutes, and it'd certainly helped that SIS at least did make accommodations. Work was work, after all. Though it had been for Lana's presence this time that he had readily made this adjustment, if only to simply be closer to her.

"Seriously. Balkar probably drank enough for the three of us," he mused as he let himself sink into the cushions at the foot of the room's single bed. 

His eyes turned in search of her, only catching her in his sights as she crossed the same pathway of his strides. Folding his hands, he hunched himself forward and watched as she lingered at the small cafe table only a few steps away. While she minded the clutter strewn across the tabletop, his eyes studied her precise motions. Her gestures were swift and single-minded even in this small chore. Though there had been no haste or urgency in her movements, she'd been scrupulously conscious of the seemingly haphazard, localized absence of order evidenced by such displays. It had been uncharacteristic of her, she _knew_. Her sudden reticence for words may as well have been an apology for it.

There'd been few people Theron had known in his life to be so compulsively organized as Lana Beniko was. _He_ knew this had been uncharacteristic of her. His gaze fell from her muted, focused countenance, only to spot a plate bearing some unfinished meal by her busying hands.

"Did I interrupt your dinner?" he inquired with an almost concerning courtesy. Even his easing tones had been enough to bring her to an abrupt halt. "You can keep eating. I mean, don't mind me."

Distracted by the harmless, solicitous question, Lana only managed a middling smile. She glanced at the untouched morsels on her plate and shook her head. "Oh. It's probably long cold now. I haven't touched it for almost an hour." 

As though the very thought of it brought the unsavory taste back to her senses, she pressed her lips together in a tightened frown. "Honestly, the food here is... _particularly_ unspectacular. To say the least," she mumbled in total absence of any enthusiasm to be had.

Theron watched as Lana reached for the cup sitting beside the dish, only for her to realize in mild disappointment that it'd been empty. His gaze shifted in its softened amusement as his smile returned.

"Could've told me. I would've brought something for you."

"It's fine," she murmured in a whisper of a laugh as she turned to him. "There seemed to be plenty of chocolates in the complimentary dish..."

It'd only been upon her mention of this that Theron had come to realize that the mound of litter gathered on her table had been the remains of her supposed meal—a pile of wadded candy wrappers.

" _Really_?" he asked wryly in a widened gaze before shaking his head in disbelief. "You're such a fat-ass."

As it'd almost never failed to do, Theron's remorseless tease had drawn a burst of rolling laughter from her. "They were _dark_ chocolates!" she cried in protest.

"That's cute that you think that makes it sound any less bad."

Lana narrowed her eyes at his sharp quip. "It _wasn't_ that bad."

"You know, this goes beyond just having a sweet tooth."

Theron's responses came with such rapid effortlessness, too quick to allow Lana even a moment to conceive a proper reprisal. Her expression grew bleak in the face of his relentless wit as she tried to mask her sincerely droll amusement of their offhanded exchange.

"You _actually_ called me a 'fat-ass,'" she murmured, as though her disbelief had been a sudden, woefully delayed afterthought. "I should be furious about that." 

Lana turned from him in pretended dismissal as she returned to collecting the littered wrappers onto the unfinished plate. 

"As any young woman ought to be when so viciously assaulted by the verbal abuse of a man who supposedly calls himself her significant other..."

When it'd seemed that Lana had finally fallen back into rhythm with her own swift, instinctive wit, there remained no lingering qualms that'd held Theron from continuing in the trail of their affectionate taunts.

"Yeah? I also called you a 'tightwad' that one time." He paused in consideration, appearing as though he'd taken the moment to recount all the most gratifying instances when his quips had bested her. "And there was also the time I—"

"—Well," Lana hummed in a shrug with her empty cup in hand, "I suppose I should just freshen up and get ready for bed, then." Singing her thoughts in shameless nonchalance, she proceeded to refill the cup with water from the pitcher set along the table's edge. "As it seems there won't be much else planned for the rest of this evening as I'd _thought_..."

For Theron—for moments just like _these_ —Lana had gained an inscrutable talent for intoning such suggestiveness, carried by the subtle articulation within every letter of her words. To top her simple little musing, she brought the cup's rim to her lips for a sip, taking care to lock her deliberate gaze with his own through every second of it. With a slightest quirk of her brow and a tightened glimpse of a smile, she turned her eyes away, gliding across the room toward the refresher.

"Whoa, _whoa_...hey."

The sudden gain in his attention did not elude her in the least. Just as she brushed past him, she felt a tug halt her in her steps. Hiding her beaming satisfaction, she glanced down to see her wrist caught in Theron's quick grasp.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you _thirsty_?" 

Though masked by the feigned innocence of her sweetened pitch, her most beguiling facetiousness lied obscured only beneath the shallows—nothing beyond immediate detectability. She playfully narrowed her eyes, leaving him with a devious slip of a smile as she offered her cup to him. 

"Would water suffice? I'm afraid it's _all_ I have to offer."

Theron's smile broadened in amusement at her knowing little tease. 

"Come over here," he urged her in a softened volume, drawing her closer by his hold. He took the cup from her hand and promptly emptied it in a quick gulp before reaching forward to set it back onto the table. 

"Come sit with me," he beckoned again, taking care to make room for her as he returned to the foot of the bed.

Before he could lead her any closer, she firmly planted herself where she'd stood. Her playful defiance remained resolute, unquestionable by the deliberate gaze she'd given once she slipped her hand from his fingers. Raising her nose, she dared to peer down at him with a cavalier smile and silently shook her head.

Lana's aloof regard had been nothing unfamiliar to him. With her, feigned disinterest had only ever meant to thinly disguise coquettish motives. For one who'd been unremittingly direct in all matters of consequence, she was notoriously elusive with the most tempting of her endearments. Like any fortified stronghold, her disengagement had been the impenetrable walls that guarded her innermost candor—to be bested and bypassed by the prowess of his wit alone, or not at all. 

In all truth, he wouldn't have preferred it any other way. The game was always something he enjoyed, something he expected and delightedly engaged her in. An intermittent match of wit and wills. But he always knew just as well as she that it was a kind never merely won by one or the other. No, those that had been most ably played yielded the incontestable gains to be reaped and shared between them _both_.

Theron gave a whisper of a laugh, attempting once again to coax her back to his side. "Aw, come on. You know I'm just joking." 

He peered up at her in a display of such sweetened earnestness, imitating the same manner of smile she regarded him whenever she sought to pluck at the strings of his heart. "I'm trying _not_ to be boring here."

Evidently, it would seem that Theron was not nearly as deft in this talent as she. Or likely, Lana's consummately understated subtleties had simply been that much better-suited to conceal the inexorable effects of its charm. Theron dared to prolong the invitation of his beckoning gaze, only to find that her attentions remained unswayed and unrequiting. 

As though she'd meant to only briefly consider his appeal, Lana finally stirred and thoughtfully turned her gaze away. Letting her pause hang for no other reason but to harry his anticipation, she at last released a breath in concession.

"Fine. _Entertain_ me, then."

Sliding her slender fingers along his shoulder, Lana reached until they caught the trim of hair at the nape of his neck. The playful tickle of her fingertips was all she gave before slipping away again, returning to the table to collect the piled scraps gathered on the single dish still sitting there.

"Tell me about your day," she sang blithely in stride as she carried the plate to the small waste receptacle at the far end of the room.

There'd been something about the ease of her tones and movements that always felt deliberate to him. Sometimes they were. At others they weren't. _Most_ times, he found it hard to tell anymore. His eyes trailed after her until she'd stepped far away enough to come into his full view. Even as she was—dressed in the simplest of her markedly unembellished tastes—Theron had to wonder if she'd done so knowingly. She hadn't even waited until he'd come before changing into her sleeping clothes, a plain black cotton nightshirt worn comfortably and loosely fitted, as typical of her preferences. 

He watched her promenade, her bare feet padding silently along the plush carpeting of the room. Even without the distinct airs of a self-assured young belle, the grace and the allure were simply innate of her, unconsciously born with every one of her merest gestures. Tracing the natural, unwitting strides of her willowy legs, Theron would have permitted his roaming eyes to wander further, if only the tasteful length of her garment had not obscured more of the silhouette hidden beneath it.

"Well, earlier...took a walk," he recalled in a casual drone.

"A walk?" Lana mindlessly hummed as she cleared her plate into the receptacle. She briefly turned back to him with a humored little smile. "Sounds pleasant."

While she stood at only a slight bend over the container, Theron's eyes now noted the plunging neckline of her nightshirt in the passing turn of her glance, hanging just low enough to steer his gaze. Such an unforgiving tease. _Surely_ , she could not have been so oblivious. He could never quite put it past her wicked mischief to be so devious. But then again, Theron minded, part of her charm had been her blissful incomprehension of just how irresistibly and effortlessly enticing she could be to him. And if this had been such a noteworthy peculiarity of hers that had drawn even his most inane attentions, he could only suspect how _certainly_ they had that of others.

"You know," Theron smirked, "to air out all the 'Bars, Balkar, n' Beer' funk before coming over."

Lana's laughter filled the air as she paced back across the room. "How considerate," she murmured, setting the plate back onto the table.

"Went back to my room. Freshened up a little."

As she passed by him at the foot of her bed, she hovered in a pause close to his ear to take a playful whiff of the distinctly unfamiliar aroma about him. "I _noticed_."

Theron halted to look at her with a puzzled smile. "Did you just sniff me?"

"Is this a new one?" she blithely asked in blatant disregard of him as she presumptuously continued to invade the comfort of his personal space.

" _Maybe_. Quit smelling me. It's weird."

Turning him a clever glance, she wryly began to tease him once again. "Now why would a man take the time to put on _cologne_ if he doesn't want to draw attention to the way he smells?"

"Yeah, but you don't go sniffing peop—"

"—It's precisely why I avoid perfumes." Lana cut across his words without a shred of shame. "How awkward would that be? To have strangers constantly hovering over your shoulder for a _smell_...?"

To demonstrate the essence of her jest, she leaned closer for yet another whiff of his scent. "It's rather unseemly behavior, isn't it?" she frowned.

"Then would you _stop_?" 

In a bout of laughter, Theron moved to swat her away, missing only by a hair as she nimbly jolted back. While Lana had shown her wits to be quite swift in instances like these, Theron's bodily reflexes proved even quicker as his hands darted forward to snatch her wrists, refusing to let her slip away. Thrown by his unanticipated response, her taunting smile had instantly been warded off by her startled gasp, and she'd been left rollicking in her playful floundering and giggles as she wrestled against him. Lana pulled and resisted in vain against his arms until he had her completely seized within his hold, dragging her down in a crumpled heap by his side.

Finally relinquishing in sound defeat, she settled herself until her laughter gently waned. She slipped one hand free from his crushing embrace, blindly tracing his features until her fingers found the dark fringes framing his brow. How she loved the familiar feel of their thick fields within her grasp, seemingly even less tamable than her own golden locks.

As he let her fingers rake through his freshly groomed hair, Theron felt her smile against his shoulder where he'd kept her locked down in his unrelenting hold. His entire being eased by the passing seconds of her trailing touch until his arms had slackened enough to release her altogether. How he enjoyed her revelry in a thing so simple. There'd been so much to be had in the pure feeling taken from the most tactile senses, and Theron had now been left in wanting of even more.

He felt her shift from his loosened arms, climbing closer to settle into a comfortable straddle in his lap. Letting his hands come to rest along her small waist, he then closed his eyes, relaxing to the faint caresses of her roaming fingers as they trailed along toward the nape of his neck.

Lana delighted herself with her playful fondling until she'd drawn him completely into her arms. Her hands met when they'd once again tickled along the tail ends of his hair before snaking further around his shoulders and back. She drew him closer into her embrace, just as he'd done only moments ago. Though in the cradle of her arms, there'd been a far more tender touch given, free of the audacious humor their drunken spirits had indulged in before. The residual hums of her amusement swelled in a muffle as she buried her nose into his full mane, where she'd then drawn a deep inward breath, taking into herself all the elements of him that her senses could conceive.

Theron detected the unmistakable smile from the delicate stirring of her lips against the crown of his head, eliciting his own very same response while he, too, tightened his arms held encircled at her waist.

Breathing a small, thoughtful hum, Lana eased herself within their entwined hold.

"If it makes you feel any better—you do smell _delightful_."

Of course, it was no surprise that she'd be the first to disturb their idyllic silence. Her half-humored muffle of a whisper at his scalp earned from him a low, rumbling drone of laughter.

"Is that all?" she asked him in a sweetened pitch, gently prompting him to continue his story.

"I didn't really do a whole lot today," Theron murmured as he pondered over what other things of merit there'd been to amuse her with.

Beaming fondly to herself, Lana eased back with her eyes fixed on him, tracing his telling features with her prying gaze.

"Has life become so...exceptionally _dull_ for you," she began, the kindling embers of her next burgeoning thought already beginning to smolder beneath her astute regard, "that you must seek a means to inspire excitement back into it...by such elusive trysts to be had with one Sith Lord and _paramour_...?"

Lana's expectant smile and devilish glimmer brimmed with her lighthearted mirth, always so immaculate in its ability to ensnare his amusement with little more than her flowered words. She held such a theatrical flair for reciting even her most profane teases as though they'd been the poetic verses of a literary masterpiece. If only her talents permitted her the pursuit of dramaturgy and the stage. Theron could only imagine the possibilities of this other life, where the born thespian he believed her to be at heart saw no limitations. The spoken word and poetics had been almost second nature to her, and how he'd adored playing her audience. Although, the further he considered it, the more he'd come to realize how profoundly he'd reveled in being her _exclusive_ admirer—the lone spectator for whom her discourse was only and ever intended. There'd been something quite intimately thrilling about indulging in this sole privilege, and he presumed himself far too selfish to share such a liberty with _any_ other.

Upon these thoughts then came his sweet, revering smile. Theron let his gaze linger with hers as the seemingly minor afterthought trailed back into his present mind. For all of the precious candor Lana regaled him with, he would gladly return her favors with what scarcely amusing delights he had to offer.

"I had dinner with Dad earlier," he droned with only middling enthusiasm, quite tempered by the rather droll cynicism of his own remote humor.

"Your _father_?" she whispered in a fervent hush. Despite his lackluster regard, Lana's gaze stilled, illuminated by her brightening curiosity. She had learned enough from all the things he'd shared with her to know that this was most certainly a matter worthy of intrigue. "How did that go?" she quickly asked, her pitch softened by her own quiet eagerness.

"Definitely... _not_ dull."

In a fit of disbelief at his utter ambiguity, Lana then scoffed in laughter. Of course he would dangle something like this over her. "Yes? _And_?"

"Uh...well," Theron mumbled half-mindedly as he wracked his mind for anything even remotely more noteworthy about the meeting that would satisfy her prying curiosity. "He knows I've got a girl." Turning his eyes to her with a renewed light of mirth, he grinned. "And he's dying to meet you."

The excitement of Lana's smile waned at his mention of this, tempered by the very sentiment itself. Between the shock and the delight of the mere notion lied her sinking apprehension, weighing down the very core of her heart.

"...Is he?" she uttered by the barest breath. 

Having only ever heard things spoken of the renowned Supreme Commander, she had yet to meet the man in person. Even in her position, she'd come close to speaking with him over communication waves several times before, but the exchanges ultimately only ever ended up being had between herself and a proxy. Though she'd never addressed it, Lana had pondered on occasion if the commander had simply been disinclined himself to ever speak with her.

Recounting the memories of Satele Shan, whom she'd remembered well and rather fondly from their brief encounter following the events on Rishi, she realized that even then, she'd only met the woman as the Grand Master of the Jedi Order, and not as Theron's mother. The very prospect of meeting the man who'd been his father left her in an inscrutable state of dismay, knowing next to nothing of what to possibly expect of one reputedly so formidable in every aspect of his manners. 

Despite Lana's dearest attempt to hold her delicate smile, Theron could see well that in essence, it had not been nearly as sincere as she'd intended for it to be. He'd sensed the swell of doubt washing over her, nearly transparent in the waning voice of her few words and the sudden self-restraint he felt from her tensing frame within his hands. Compelled to diffuse it, he swiftly responded in kind.

"But he...doesn't know you're _you_."

Lana only then realized she'd been withholding her breath after its release in a sigh of reprieve.

"... _Oh_ ," she whispered almost inaudibly. 

Offering a listless nod, the merest glimmer of her smile began to return with her spirits once she'd loosened herself from the last threads of her lingering trepidation. In the passing moment, Theron almost swore he'd also glimpsed a nearly indiscernible shade of disappointment in the shift of her expression. But it'd gone just as soon as her radiance returned in full, accompanied by the song of her reassured laughter.

"Of course."

"And it should probably stay that way," Theron spoke further once the stark realization struck him. "I mean, he's a good, caring guy. But he's...pretty set in his ways. You know?" Summoning a casual sense of easy humor in his tones, he'd been intent on skirting by the deeper point of contention, recalling the scathing words spoken by the commander earlier that night. They were not words he had ever hoped to impart to her.

"Should go for everyone, I think. It sucks, I know, but—"

"—Theron, I understand," Lana assured him with a dismissive shake of the head and a smile. After all, the same prudence was to be exercised on her end as well. "I'm sure I would face worse penalties than _you_ in this...matter." Her remark came laced with a rather implicit humor.

They had owed much of their exemption from any undue scrutiny to the commendable history of their cooperative achievements. But of the volatile issue regarding conflicting interest— _yes_ , Theron had been deeply aware of its precarious nature. He had a clear idea of what manners of punitive actions he might face. Some sort of reprimand, possible probation, but otherwise not much he couldn't eventually rebound from. There'd been no way to know how severe the ramifications would be Imperial-side, but he was certain Lana would be gravely reprehended for what would surely have been taken for gross misconduct. 

Still, there'd been almost no discernible trace of unease when he looked to her. In spite of all that had been truly at stake—her position, her credibility, possibly even her own welfare—sweet-tempered Lana appeared to think nothing of it. Of course she couldn't have been simply so feckless or shortsighted. What they possessed in their hands outweighed any uncertainty of the risk. That much rang beyond a doubt in his heart, and nothing could obstruct him from its verity within Lana's own.

Meaning to guide their conversation back from its wayward path, Theron shrugged and gave a thin, tightened smile as he exhaled a half-witting laugh. "Other than that, it was fine. I mean, the guy seemed a little jaded. But otherwise... _fine_."

Letting her arms relax where they draped over his shoulders, she lowered her pointed gaze to him with a wry little smirk. "Ah, yes. I don't believe you could possibly be any _more_ vague than that." 

In blithe laughter, she then set her sights aloft with her next whimsical thought. "A _stalwart_ politician you would make," she mused before turning her scrutinizing eyes back over the amusement of his countenance. Lana then playfully bit her lower lip in a tease of a smile before whispering her sweltering afterthought. "You certainly have the _looks_ to be one."

"Yeah?"

Grinning with the fire to match her own, Theron's hands firmed along the small of her back, letting his palms trace the gentle contours where they'd wandered. "' _Supreme Chancellor Shan_ '?" he murmured with sheer, delighted amusement before his expression crinkled in a grimace of pretended distaste. "I don't know if I really like the sound of that..."

"Directly to _Supreme Chancellor_ , is it? You _certainly_ have the ambitiousness of one."

It'd taken much within him to contain the warming pleasure of the familiar sensation of Lana's bare, unassuming touch. The way her fingertips always skimmed through the trim of his hair along his neck, a repeated gesture of such plain affection she'd taken much liberties with each time. This tendency had been an unconscious habit of hers, he'd learned, but even the subdued brush of her fingers yielded no less in its purity than the most tempting touch of her lips.

"Eh, I don't think it'd take much to give Saresh a run for her money..."

Theron's enlightening quip and self-assured smirk drew another bout of airy laughter from her breath.

" _Ah_ —until it is revealed to the whole of the Galactic Republic that," she hummed, contriving yet another fantastical hypothetical against his own as her fingers continued to idle with the tail ends of his hair, "the young, ambitious Shan had been partaking in an ill-conceived...and _very_ illicit affair with an _Imperial_. And worse yet—the woman is a _Sith_ , of all things..."

The imagined dramatics painted so vividly by Lana's zealous narration stirred his innate sense of defiance from within. He grinned daringly at her little twist.

"I think they'd like my 'devil-couldn't-give-a-fuck' attitude."

Again, Theron's dry wit brought to her another pass of laughter.

"Besides, what better way to _really_ start the reconstruction...?" 

There'd been a shade of sincere forethought beneath his simple musing, but it'd been quickly diffused by the sudden return of his droll caprice by his following afterthought. 

"And it's _not_ like I'm the first Pub in the galaxy to sleep with an Imp." With his playful quip then came a nimble little pinch he'd unsuspectingly given to Lana's rear.

Startled by the nip of Theron's shameless fingers, she sprang forward in a jolt. Rolling laughter followed her initial gasp as she'd once again been helplessly stolen into his arms. Such a shock had propelled her so that the full brunt of her weight had been thrown too suddenly for him to catch, knocking him backwards into the plush of her bed.

As she lumbered in a heap against him, Lana attempted to wrestle out of his clutches, only to be dragged back down again by his unrelenting grasp. She'd rarely ever bested him in these playful tussles, hapless at the mercy of her inherent disadvantage against his physique, substantially more potent and robust than her own much smaller frame. In spite of her losing battle, Lana refused to relinquish, always certain to give him fair toil for his intended bounty. 

Pressing her palms firmly against his chest, she continued to ward him off amidst her rollicking giggles, all in vain while he gradually subdued her by nearly effortless degrees, until he'd drawn her close enough to catch her face by a single hand's grasp. At last, she'd allowed herself to acquiesce to his touch, and she felt his other palm loosen from the curves of her slackening body. Upon the descent of their follies, she squeezed her eyes shut when she felt his freed fingers gracelessly brush away the tangles of her spilt hair where they'd obscured her face. 

Theron beamed with such comfort at the humming air of her contented laughter. As he ushered her closer, she sank towards him at the guidance of his tender hands until he caught her lips in a faint, playful kiss. Lana's tickling laughter continued to broaden the curve of his lips against her own, quelled only once she'd been fully submersed within the teeming warmth of his affection.

Only a breath brought their lips a mere moment's pause before a second kiss, one laden even more thickly by the swell of their desirous wanting. Theron's hands once again fitted to the curve of her waist, guiding her mercurial form within the caress of his embrace. They'd shifted into one another until a point of near-perfect confluence had been found in between, where Lana lied resting against the covers while he eased into the space at her side in the lulling comfort of their muted respite.

How he'd missed the privacy of these moments. It'd been one thing to see Lana again after such patience had been given, only to play along with their mutual facade of reserved pleasantries in the face of others. Though there had never been a shortage of work and duty to tend to, they had never let their meetings pass without stealing some time for themselves. The moments he'd been restless to seek were those they could share in their own private space, where she'd been free to smile and laugh with him as she pleased. And he would be free to touch her, take her hand, and hold her as his own so longed to do. Because it'd felt most natural. Because he'd known that it had been the liberty that she, too, craved to have again.

And the _words_ —the ones they could freely speak to one another were those of most significance, of most sentiment. At times, they'd been the most mundane, or even the most _asinine_ at the height of their wriest, most sardonically conceived remarks thrown at one another. Even so, they'd never been lacking in their consonant affection, the universal depth and purity of their reciprocal adoration of each other. And they would whisper and exchange these words for hours on end until a point when they had been no longer needed. Until the language transcended the senses beyond the palpable, and all that had been left to perceive was each other's existing presence.

Lana had been cradled close in Theron's hold, where he'd comfortably let his brow rest against hers. Like him, she kept her eyes lulled shut, soothed by the trailing, delicate stroke of his fingers as they traced the velveteen skin of her face. She smiled just for him when his wandering touch swept by her lips, and she felt the pad of his thumb then trace the gentle contours now revealed by her delighted wonder.

"...How long?" she murmured softly, barely conscious of her own incomprehensible voice drawn by the whim of her passing ephemeral thoughts.

Her listless, unprompted musing puzzled him when first spoken, as he hadn't been sure if she'd meant to address him at all. The lazed lids of his eyes fluttered to life again, and he glanced down at her in curiosity.

"What?"

Lana first responded with a most inscrutable little smile.

"You say you've always loved me," she hummed, opening her eyes to see the striking hazel of his own staring back. Her elusive smile shifted in its color, revealing only a glimmer of her otherwise unintelligible intent. "But we both know that isn't true. So how long?" she inquired in the daring brilliance of her renewed amusement.

Uncertain of if she'd asked in jest or in earnest, Theron then settled on once again answering the challenge of her unspoken play. Returning her secretive gleam with his own wry smirk, he then casually propped himself up on one arm as he shifted onto his side to face her, leaving his free hand to linger at rest at the curve of her waist.

"...Since Manaan." 

He would let _her_ judge the truthfulness of his answer.

Narrowing her eyes at him, she attempted again in vain to read his innermost intentions. As always, it'd yielded nothing. But the obvious guile in his tease had already spoken volumes enough.

"You're a _shameless_ liar. You've hated me from the beginning," she countered, calling his fib.

"Whoa." Theron's brows perked in exaggerated surprise. "'Hate' is a _pretty_ strong word."

"You did," Lana asserted, softly pursing her lips with pretended dissatisfaction. She lowered her tones to a mere tease of a whisper. "You don't think I noticed your _subtle_ implications...?"

Tugging her closer by the waist, he leaned in to catch her lips in a devilish little kiss. "I didn't 'hate' you."

Unpersuaded by his cajolery, her look of disfavor remained unchanged. Turning her attentions to the collar of his shirt, Lana slipped her fingers along its open placket at his neck, toying with the topmost, tiny, undecorated button. "Well, you weren't very fond of me."

"Actually..." Leaving his thought adrift, Theron's humor appeared to completely dissolve from his sincere gaze. "No. I really liked you. What was hard to hide was admitting it. Didn't notice _that_?"

Lana mimicked his airy smile, feeling the lazed touch of his hand now tracing the gentle swell of her hips. She'd then simply allowed herself to follow along in his mindless, affectionate roaming, drawing her leg up over his own to lounge more freely beneath his idling hands. Letting her eyes shut, she sounded a breezy, contented little hum.

"So you overcompensated and turned the completely opposite way?" she quipped in a whisper. "Why are boys always _such_ the ambivalent ones?"

Her eyes opened again with a narrowed gaze as she tugged him down by the collar, drawing him closer until only a hair's breadth kept their lips apart. "You realize...we could have been spared much of the undue antagonism between just the two of us if you'd have been forthright from the beginning." The irony had been apt in light of her cynical jest, though she'd known she had hardly been innocent of the same errant callowness in the earliest times of their discourse.

Stifling the smile that dared to relinquish his thorough amusement, Theron tightened his lips. "You know, I'm _still_ a little salty about that whole Rishi episode." He then gave her thigh a little tease of a tug, hitching her closer against him. "Just saying."

"So we're both yellow-bellied pessimists to one another in the worst of situations," she beamed in full delight. "Are we square, then?"

"I'd say we're square."

Lana smiled and sweetly brushed her lips over his in a brief tickle of a kiss. "Good."

When it'd seemed that there'd been enough plays exchanged by dialogue, Theron quickly abandoned its use with zeal. There'd been another manner by which his lips could speak, and he'd fervently indulged her with this language that required no words. This had become a habitual routine of theirs—to tease, to vex, and then laugh it all away through their shared kisses. 

In the playful scuffle of their tangled arms, Lana's hands had found the lapels of his jacket, tugging at its folds to slip the garment from his shoulders. The movements of her blind reach prompted him to peel himself away for only a moment as he wriggled his arms free from its sleeves before discarding it entirely without a care over the side of the bed.

Lana laughed sweetly at his almost childlike eagerness, easing herself back into the plush of the covers beneath them as she let him settle back down over her. At the gentle guidance of her hands, pressed warmly against the now unkempt cloth of his shirt, Theron sank into her arms, fitting himself with perfect familiarity into her every contour and curve. He rested his head against her shoulder, closing his eyes to the lulling silence found between them once more. How quiet it'd grown yet again, the eventual interlude that always came following the shared words.

Shutting away her own gaze from the stillness of the world, Lana basked in the warm air of Theron's softened breathing against her neck. Her fingers fondled the disheveled field of his hair, delicate like the touch of the ubiquitous breeze weaving through waves of pastoral, grassland knolls. While she idled her hands with this small pleasure, Theron's own roamed everywhere else as they habitually did at their leisure. For this moment, it'd been only their hands that spoke, now finding themselves coming upon the place where words simply failed.

Lana kept her eyes closed, letting the tactile senses translate for her. She thought only of where Theron's fingertips traced, the trail of their paths, the warmth of their contact. All of it meaning _something_. She smiled when she felt him in his daring caprice, reach beneath her garment, eliciting a hush of humming laughter from her by the fond indulgence he'd taken in doing so. 

_Oh_ , the simple feeling of his skin against her own. 

She'd laughed because it'd been so playful, so gratifying, and it'd been _anything_ but chaste. But it had also been _sweet_. It'd been delicate in its tenderness. She imagined it to be another one of their games at times, counting the seconds of how long he'd meant to draw this out, how long he _could_ draw it out. She guessed at where his hands would roam next, and where next, and where to after that, and he'd surprised her at almost every turn. She then felt his fingers brush along her shoulder, following the wide neck of her nightshirt as they trailed and tugged away at its hem.

And his _lips_.

She felt the chill of the air kiss every inch where his lips did not. Lower and lower, they traced the same path his fingertips had until... _ah_ —of _course_ they would wander there. Lana smiled at this bit of predictability in him.

But Theron did not pull the cloth anywhere past her shoulders. Not _yet_. She felt his breath against her breast, but he'd halted himself before his lips touched her flesh. Instead, she felt his weight ease down as he let his head come to rest against her, lain at seeming peace with the sound of her resonant heartbeat filling his ear like a hummed lullaby. 

Lana's breathing had become sedate enough for her to feel his own with every gentle, synchronous rise and fall of their bodies. 

She then felt him stirring. _Searching_. 

Where she'd left one hand lain supinely against her pillow, his own followed, found, and claimed it. He laced and entwined their fingers until they'd been molded and given new form as one—the act, the tangible sensation of _touch_ that spoke worlds beyond any mere words that had been said between them thus far.

"Sorry. I didn't even think to ask..."

Theron's quiet utterance had come unprompted, but it had not been an unwelcome disturbance to the silence.

"...How are things on your end going, by the way?"

His sincere question stirred her eyes to slowly open again, but the light had dulled from them considerably against the unseen, wistful pall of her countenance. He asked only because he _knew_. He'd known much more than she'd initially ever gave him credit for, more than she ever meant for him to know. She wished so that he hadn't, but she'd also been quietly thankful for it. Because it proved that he _cared_.

Lana felt the skin of his face inch and curl against her breast. A _smile_.

"I had half a mind to just blow Jonas off and come over to where you were sitting downstairs."

"Why didn't you?" she hummed.

"Didn't think I should bother you. Why didn't you just stay in your room if you needed to work?"

" _Here_?" she whispered, letting her eyes peruse the empty expanse of the high ceiling above. "It's so quiet."

"Not your preferred working environment...?" he asked with a curious tinge of humor. But she was right. He was surprised by how quiet it'd gotten in these private suites.

"It's lonely." 

Lana's hushed tone wandered adrift with her seemingly wayward thoughts, unconsciously guiding her fingers to tighten around his own. As Theron took note of the merest shift in her, he grew even more still. He meant to draw every trace and signal he could find from between her sparing words, all too aware that they were not ones she intended to reveal.

"So you'd rather be where the random schmucks are? Looking for a fun night, tossing around their crappy pick-ups?"

Even if it had not been entirely wholehearted as others he'd heard of her, the relief of his gentle tease had at least been enough to draw a modest air of laughter from her.

"Admittedly, there is some comfort to be had in the busy goings-on of the world's movements... Some comfort in _immersion_." 

Lana grew quiet again in her contemplation. Though she knew it had only been temporal, she could sit amidst this moving world, even if she never quite became a part of it. It indeed had been but a small comfort, a small distraction. The reason why an audience sits before a stage. It was a spectacle meant to amuse. Sometimes, it may even _inspire_ , but she found those moments were becoming ever fewer and farther in between.

"And knowing you'd be only several floors away... I'd have gone daft with restlessness in the solitude of this room." Smiling, she'd at least contented herself with the certainty that the solitude would not last. "I'd have _gladly_ welcomed your intrusion, Theron. A blissful, pleasured distraction."

' _Pleasured distractions_.' The words carried more implications behind them than she could ever realize.

In the poignant, encompassing silence, Theron noted how she'd calculatingly evaded his initial question with such deftness. She had always been so clever at avoiding the questions she was most reluctant to answer, but he'd exchanged enough words, shared enough experiences with her to know. No matter how meticulous she'd been, the words left unarticulated could no longer elude him as gracefully as they once had. He'd come to learn that there were even times when she'd unwittingly reveal the most obscured, unintentional meanings within her discourse, spoken or otherwise. It'd been hardly any feat for him anymore to discern even her most profound doubts and misgivings from beneath the deceptively calm surface. But if she had truly been unwilling to say more, he would not impose himself.

At the gentle coaxing of his fingers' caress along her face, Lana at last met his gaze once again. He watched with such adoration the faint blinking of her eyes as they opened in search of his own. The purity of her tender smile. Theron hadn't been certain if she'd given it only because she simply enjoyed the fleeting reverence of his mere touch, or because she'd truly found any lasting comfort in it. But it mattered not; he would take it for what it was. He would rather have her smile than her tears on any given night.

"You said something about me earlier tonight. To Agent Balkar." It'd been only a glimmer, but there appeared to be a light of returning humor in her tones. "Did you really mean it? Am I really a ' _pain in the ass_?'"

"Are you kidding?" Theron sank down closer to her with a devious little smirk. "Everytime—' _We need more support in the occupied sectors. And where are the supplies we were promised?_ '" he imitated her own words verbatim from memory. "Always so demanding. And when it's us asking—' _Oh, I'm so sorry to say, but our supply lines are facing a slight delay, it seems. They'll arrive in due time._ '"

"And _I_ am to blame for all the countless blockades mounted by the individual insurgent parties? _Your_ enemies?" she challenged, narrowing her eyes with a smoldering splendor to match his own.

"Of course. It's always easier to blame _you_." 

With his plain-spoken tease came yet another kiss. 

"All the civilian ships getting plundered..."

Theron then trailed his lips along her jawline.

"All the occupations on the fringe worlds..."

Another kiss beneath her ear.

"All the uprisings..."

The hollow of her neck.

"Each and every miserable stroke of bad luck and tragedy happening in the galaxy right now this very moment..." 

Returning his heady gaze to her, his smile softened. 

"...It's _all_ because of Lana Beniko."

Again, Theron brought his lips down to gently take her own.

"The more she tries to save the galaxy—the more of a humanitarian she tries to be for everyone...the more the cracks start to show."

His words, however benign by the nature of his lighthearted humor, had begun to stir within her the long-buried unrest of her incessant uncertainty, knowing far too well just how mercurial the movements of the universe had always proven to be. The mirth that'd colored her countenance only moments ago soon faded with the passing seconds. Willing with all her might to banish these infirmities from mind, if only for the time being, Lana tried sincerely to smile again for him.

"Let's not talk anymore of this...shall we?" she urged in a barest breath.

Theron eased from his cynical amusements, only realizing a touch too late that he may have then tread too far past the safety of the shallows. No matter how well-intentioned his jests had been, the sentiment of Lana's periodically resurfacing misgivings served to remind him again and again that they would never quite take leave of her conscience. Its lingering shadow remained ever-present in her precarious heart, and he could not afford falter in any of his steps when he tread along the deep with her in hand.

"Yeah. Okay." 

With a gentle nod, Theron pressed his brow to her own. Drawing the delicate frame of her body into his full embrace, he nestled himself comfortingly back against her. 

"I'm sick of talking anyway." 

These had been the closing, whispered words on his breath before silence reclaimed the air. Theron fell on her lips with another sumptuous kiss—a prolonged drink from the spring of the oasis he'd yearned so long and so patiently for. It'd been the deliverance from the arid plains, the sweltering, solitary wasteland in which he'd desolately been adrift for too long. The water was life, and how _sweet_ it'd tasted on his tongue again.

From the oasis, they'd leapt hand in hand from the greatest heights in their seamless dive into perfect freefall. Between the immaculate sensations of their hands, their hearts, their _beings_ , they'd come once again to the point of convergence within one another. So perfectly fitted, so perfectly coexistent. And they would remain so, prolong their bitterly impermanent state to the farthest reaches of its bounds.

Their names had been the only existing words then. He would whisper hers to her ear, and she would breathe his on a single sigh.

The _touch_. The transient prints left by their hands. The incandescent stains upon their flesh, marks left in the signature drawn where their lips traced. 

The very summit of their consummation—the culmination of the heavenly, the divine, the _ecstasy_. Even when they'd reached far enough to touch the very edge of oblivion, there'd been no submission, no release until the final stroke to their ascension. When they'd converged and become _whole_.

When those glorious seconds came, all else only appeared to dilate around them into stagnance. It had taken only those fleeting seconds to circle the universe and back. To plunge into the deep toward the surface of an opposite world. To fall in flight with the cosmic swells, adrift in no direction toward every corner, every point in space. This had been a journey they'd taken many times before, and with each iteration came the discovery of yet another unwalked path.

Their eyes opened and saw only each other. Felt only each other. The _only_ two points in existence in their world.

As time returned with their senses, the fatigue dulled with their spent and exhausted mortal bodies, sinking back into one another within the bed where they still lied. The bed within the room that they had never left.

The silence had bided its time before finally taking leave of them. It had always lingered, its refuge welcome in the wearied hollows of this interlude. This time, it'd only made its departure at the muted disturbance of Theron's languid breaths. If not for how closely they wafted by her ear, Lana would never have been able to discern the definitive words they carried.

Her loosened fingers traced the taut flesh of his back until they'd threaded into the dampened fringes of his hair. The smallest of her musings parted her lips, drawing from them a faintest smile.

"You know...I've never really cared much for that word," she exhaled.

"What word?" Theron murmured against her neck, uncertain of what her seeming intrigue meant to reveal this time.

Lana's eyes opened to the black of the lightless room.

"' _Love_.'"

Theron grew quiet before stirring within her arms, soon overtaken by his rumbles of droll, listless laughter. Rolling himself off from where he'd lain above her, he then nestled himself at her side.

"...We're all nice and cozy in bed right now, and you're having a little Sith Lord moment?"

Lana's sheer amusement glowed in the sweetened pitch of her laughter as she turned herself to face him. 

"I don't...dislike the _concept_ of love," she clarified. Her gaze softened with the brush of her fingertips against his face. The warmth of his breath kissed her thumb before his lips did, eliciting from her a quiet, flushing sigh. "Of _course_ not," she uttered with her escaping breath.

"It's just the word I don't like. Four simple letters. To describe...the most complex convolution of all mortal conditions..." 

As her thoughts pondered how to best articulate her intended meaning, she turned her eyes aloft, guided by the brightened splendor of its abounding pursuit. 

"It's so unbelievably presumptuous, you know. To sum up something so vast, so...grand. So _cosmic_. In only four letters. One syllable on a single breath. It just...falls short. Inadequate. As though... As though it almost seems to trivialize the very _idea_..."

_'Love.'_

A word so small. And yet, it carried within the sparse letters, within the space between the letters, such immense weight—a whole, collective mass greater and brighter than any star. Small and slight as it was, the word represented something profoundly _universal_. It was a colossal thing, illusively bigger within than it ever appeared to be on the surface.

And it'd been something too often overused and too easily undervalued. There was no need for her to say more. Theron understood this well enough.

"...Fine. I won't say it to you, then."

It was difficult for her not to revel in his blissful candor even amidst the solemn poignance of her musings. His insufferable charisma simply never failed to enthrall her amusement.

"No," she plainly assented. Unfazed by his jest, Lana then rose from her pillows. With a firm press of the hand, she eased Theron over onto his back, playfully sprawling herself comfortably over him. 

"You've always been better at _showing_ anyway," she murmured. Where her palm had caressed the marred skin above his heart, she pressed her lips to it before soundly resting her head over his chest.

Theron gazed down the length of her prone body draped over him. He could glimpse the scars born on her back in full. He let his gentle hands trace the path of their marks, smiling to know that she'd no longer shied herself away from this gesture. It had taken countless nights like these for her to overcome the impulse. And now, she'd grown well accustomed to its sensation. She'd grown to expect it. To yearn for it and all the comfort and security something so simple as Theron's touch could bring her. Still, no matter how much he'd assured her of it, Lana would seemingly never be convinced of how remarkable she'd truly been to behold. If only she would believe it when he'd told her so.

Like her most familiar habits, Theron, too, allowed for his fingers to revel in the golden tangles of her hair. It never took much for the locks to become wild and unruly as they were now. He affectionately recalled to mind all the times he'd ever woken up with her beside him, looking the absolute, most uncouth wreck when she rose from bed. How he'd adored seeing her like so, when she'd appeared most natural, most unassuming. While she remained fast asleep, he'd always enjoyed playing with the tresses between his fingers, still so fine and soft to the touch even in such knotted tangles. And once she would finally arise, unkempt as she'd appeared, she never faltered in carrying the same serene, unadulterated grace so innate of her. She was certain to have been fully aware of how untidy she'd looked, and yet never bent to the whims of any misplaced impression of self-consciousness when she'd been in his presence. And how perfectly _endearing_ he thought her to have been in doing so.

"You know, it used to be much longer," Lana hummed, relishing in the playful tickle of his idle fingers.

So adrift in his own world of thoughts, Theron paused in his momentary confusion at her sudden, unprompted words until he'd felt the definite form of her familiar smile against his skin.

"My hair." Without stirring from where she'd lain, she then idly began to trace her fingertips in circles against his flesh. "When I was younger. It must have hung long enough to reach my waist then."

Theron grinned at the image he'd pictured of this younger version of her. "Oh, yeah? Why don't you grow it back out?"

"You like girls with longer hair?" she asked curiously.

"Kind of always had a thing. Yeah."

Lana sounded a faint air of amusement. "Well, unfortunately for you, dearest Theron...it is worlds easier for me to maintain shortened. And I am _quite_ reluctant to sacrifice that convenience for the sake of your aesthetic whims."

Another of her eloquently worded comebacks. Theron smirked in absence of any surprise to be had. It'd always been such an art with her.

"If only I could show you," she lamented in a sweetened tone. "You could see for yourself what a lovely girl the young Mistress Beniko had been."

_'Been'? You're_ still _fucking beautiful._

"Are we talking some old Sith Academy mugshots here?" he quipped. "I don't know if I'm interested to see that yearbook..."

For a moment, Lana said nothing. No clever retort, no swift remark of retaliation. In her silence, Theron felt her body as it soundly rose from a long, deepened breath.

"Agent Shan...?" she murmured at last.

What to expect now? She'd only ever addressed him so formally in these private moments when she meant to tease. The sort that she'd unapologetically wreak with neither a trace of shame nor remorse.

" _Minister Beniko_?" he playfully responded in kind. He felt her cheeks stir yet again against his bare chest.

"...I am trying _very_ hard to relax to the sound of your beating heart. Do _shut up_."

"Yeah?" The entirety of his amusement now returned in full by her swift challenge. It would seem that their game would resume again from where it'd last been left off. "Well fuck you, too, Beniko."

With brows furrowed in a look of pretended offense, Lana raised her eyes to him in a glaring pout. "Now, do you kiss your _mother_ with that mouth?" she berated him in a mocking tease.

" _Funny_ ," Theron responded wryly. He bent down in a quick bid to catch one from her own lips, only to be swiftly rejected.

Shying away as she eased herself from him, she revealed a devilish little grin and merely shook her head.

Between the meeting of their rivaled glances had been the unspoken dare pitted against one another. In almost perfectly timed unison, Theron burst from where he'd lain just as Lana pushed herself away in an attempt to escape his arms' reach. Yet again, he proved himself to be the far quicker one. Before she'd even been given a chance to wrestle herself free, he'd already locked her well within his grasp.

"Yeah? You wanna go, Beniko?" he goaded her tauntingly through the exuberant ring of their laughter.

Against her struggling arms and resistant squirming, Theron only tightened his hold as they fell backward into the strewn covers beneath them. "You _know_ I'm stronger than you," he wryly reminded her, slowly subduing her into submission as he dragged her back beneath him.

The more she'd thrown herself against him to break free, the more she'd felt the physical brunt of his retaliation overpower her. Her laughter climbed in a pitch of a holler when she'd at last been brought beneath the crushing weight of his entire body bearing down on her. "Theron, _no_ —all right! Stop, stop...!" she cried in her waning giggles, finally relinquishing.

As she eased her thrashing, he paused with a hanging look of surprise. " _Already_? That's got to be a new record..."

Lana raised her chin high and narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine. Come claim your kiss, then. If you're so _desperate_ for it," she taunted in feigned conceit in a bid to tempt him.

There'd been no need for her to command him a second time. Wearing a triumphant little grin, he sank closer toward her as she permitted, only to find her defiantly drawing away from his lips yet again until she'd averted her face entirely. 

"Really? We're doing this again, huh?" Theron's smile grew taut at the antics of her startlingly juvenile persistence. 

Loosening his hands from where they'd held her restrained, he affectionately ran them through her tousled hair, returning her unyielding smirk with a charmed little smile. All that was ever required was a gentler touch and a bit of coaxing until she'd softened enough to willingly oblige. When it appeared that she'd settled herself down completely, he held his forefinger up to her face, slowly lowering it closer toward her until he tapped the very tip of her nose. He watched her keenly as her scheming eyes narrowed even more so at his cheeky little gesture.

"You know... You are such...a _little_ — _AGH_!" 

Before he could complete his drawling thought, his words were clipped short by the sudden, stinging jolt sent into his side. Its bite had been enough to give him a jump, and he eased himself away from Lana as he rolled onto his back. Caught between the pained groans of his exaggerated shock and amused laughter, he bent over to see the trace of a minor, reddened little burn at his abdominals.

"You... _seriously_ just Force zapped me?"

"I most certainly did."

Still rubbing at the tingling burn, Theron watched as she rose from the plush of the covers without a trace of remorse. _No_. This wouldn't do. He wouldn't let her simply slip away so easily like that.

"And where do you think _you're_ going?" he teased, snatching her by the arm.

" _Theron_ —!" she tried to scold him again, only to be sent right back down into the mattress by a single tug.

"You little cheat," he murmured to her ear, pinning her down once more. Seemingly exhausted by his antics, she'd become far more compliant this time around. "You're not going anywhere." 

"Would you kindly get off me?" Lana whispered with a subdued smile, her hands firmly placed against his chest.

"No. What's the hurry? Where are you off to all of a sudden?"

"The refresher," she answered plainly against his transparent attempts to pester her.

"Why?"

So it would seem he meant to repay her juvenile teasing with his own blatant immaturity. Unsurprising.

"'Why?' To _refresh_ ," she insisted wryly. "I've got your _scent_ all over me," she whispered pointedly only inches away from his lips.

"Oh, so you _are_ saying I smell," Theron teased, putting a deviant little twist to what had otherwise been her perfectly candid words. "You're a liar, too, huh? Earlier you said I smelled _delightful_."

"...Along with the heavenly coat of perspiration to be washed away," Lana mumbled half-jokingly through her thinning smile, paying his banter no mind whatsoever.

"What, you don't like being sweat-buddies?" At the cue of his own playful remark, he jokingly nuzzled his dampened face against hers.

Lana winced as she turned away from him, rolling in her own reluctant giggles. "You are such a child!"

"Come on. You can shower in the morning."

"In the morning—when you _always_ have the refresher occupied for longer than even the Force would deign to consider? I'd rather save myself the torment of having to wait my turn then," she stubbornly insisted.

"You know....I've invited you to jump on in there with me plenty of times," he drawled suggestively. "You're the one who doesn't like to share."

" _Off_ ," she urged him yet again. " _Please_ , Theron?" Her sweetened whisper came with a quirk of a smile. She'd known intimately that any request given in such a manner had been nearly impossible for him to deny.

Tempering the mischief from his countenance, his gaze softened in its warmth.

"No," he answered in a lowered hush, surprising her with his seemingly unbreakable persistence. "Stay."

Free of any humor or lust, the simplicity of his gentle request had been enough to melt her resolve entirely.

" _Please_?" 

His coup de grâce. Lana could only imagine the power this simple little word held over him whenever she'd uttered it to his ears. Winding her fingers through his thickened mess of hair, she relented in a sigh, drawing him in for the kiss he'd so faithfully awaited for. 

"Fine."

With her quiet resignation, Lana relaxed again into the warmth beneath him. She felt the sweet gratitude in his fluttering kisses left in trails over her face down to her neck until he buried his nose into its hollow.

Theron let his tender lips and pacifying breath temper her residual impulses. She appeared to be quite thoroughly quelled until he noted her faintest stirring, even as he lightened his feathered touch. Then came the soft air of laughter as she shrank from the brush of his kisses. Theron halted his movements upon a brimming little light of mischief passing through his curious thoughts.

It'd only been when he'd grazed the skin of his face against that of her neck that she responded like so. Grinning, he continued to tease her until it became clear that it'd been the bristles of his fresh stubble that tickled her so. 

It was almost astounding how sensitive to the touch he'd learned Lana could be. The delicate curve of her neck had been one of such places Theron had taken exclusive joy in indulging. To his amusing discovery, he'd found that with the proper touch, he could melt her composure entirely, seeing her come undone by the slightest brush of his bare flesh against her own. And by the very same touch, he could, too, send her adrift in complete abandon, tumbling with oblivious laughter.

" _Theron_..." she crooned in a giggle, peeling away from his relentless teasing.

He joined in the mirth of her hums as he finally ended his torment, easing away from her to settle comfortably once again at her side. He cradled her close within the crook of his arm as she nestled herself in perfect form against him. In their inactivity, the night's air began to chill their flesh, so he pulled the disheveled covers free to drape back over their comatose bodies.

The realization slowly began to dawn on Theron in the comfort of the passing moment. He couldn't quite place why this had felt so _familiar_. The very first night he'd invited her to stay with him—or rather, when she'd invited _him_ , refusing to allow his self-exile from his own quarters—this had been the very same manner in which they'd lain together, fitted within each other's arms until they'd drifted into the night's peaceful slumber. Just as he'd done that night, he drew her closer to him, letting her come to rest against his shoulder. He threaded his fingers through her tresses, brushing the hanging tumbles from her face. And like the last gesture he'd recalled from that night, he buried his nose into the locks, breathed her in, and gently pressed his lips to the crown of her head. He'd have been content to fall asleep like this again, enraptured by the simplicity of how perfectly crafted they'd been for each other's being.

"...That's more like it," he hummed.

"Really?" Lana drawled, heavy in her fanciful cynicism. Of course _now_ , when finally the waters had soundly stilled, would be the time for her mischief to resurface. "Because you always seem to prefer being on _top_. As I recall."

Snorting at the uncharacteristically crass remark from her lips, Theron nearly blanched in his disbelief. "Yeah, well...your Sith ass can be real tiring," he muttered, giving her bum a playful little smack beneath the covers.

Gasping at the daring gesture, Lana retaliated with a swift, full-handed slap of her own against his chest, eliciting a far more dramatic response from him. He flinched under the sting of her hand with yet another exaggerated groan.

" _Why_...?" he cried, catching the offending hand in his grasp. "First you zap me, and then you beat me—this S &M stuff...Lana, I _told_ you I'm not into this Sith kink."

Her expression dropped completely at his flagrant remark. Tightening her lips, Lana resisted the draw of her burgeoning, bashful little smile. Between them, it'd been _he_ who, if ever, had shown any remote interest for the rough-handed inclinations she'd been accused of harboring. 

Theron had been, after all, a passionate man. Much in contrast to his outward, cool-headed ease, there had been occasions when she'd found him carried quite far away with her by his own restless exuberance. When for the greater part of his life, he had been apt to staying himself in habitual, contented silence for his services. He was never an ostentatious man, but he'd held such unspoken zeal when it came to these tacit matters—his affections, the cycling tempest of his emotions and desires that had remained so fervently inarticulate. There, too, had been nights when _once_ was not enough. But for every bit of swelling desire she'd been drawn by, there had been just as much for her to endure. Theron's touch was never ungentle, but how quickly and easily it could _overwhelm_.

_No_ , she would not forget this. How she'd fought to resist her forfeiting smile, knowing so profoundly the absolute and deliberate irony in his unremitting little tease. The man had simply been insufferable. And she _adored_ him for it.

"And you presume I am any more immune to _your_ abuses?" she countered wryly. A simple and elegant reply, one she'd known had been enough to rouse the very same sentiments to a roil in the recesses of his own untethered mind. " _You_ started it," she playfully asserted, washing herself of any accountability to be had.

"And you call _me_ a child."

Hidden beneath her deadpan gaze lied the unmistakable amusement she'd tried so hard to conceal. Her lips stiffened as she fought the urge to smile. She absolutely refused to be first to crack. Together, they stared at one another in a contest of nerves—a rather common phase among their private matches.

Lana blinked and lowered her gaze first, but she did not yield. After a moment's hesitation, she then settled back down into the cradle of his arm.

"...I tire you out?" she murmured to him disarmingly.

" _Yeah_. You fucking tire me out."

With her face tucked safely away from his sights, Lana finally allowed herself to bend, secretly accepting her loss with a gratuitous little grin. She turned her gaze idly across his chest to where her hand had lain, mindlessly tracing her fingertips along the remnants of the scarring over his heart.

"You'd be bored out of your skull if I didn't."

Theron searched for her hand, enveloping it within the grasp of his much larger one. Smiling contentedly, he then brought her fingers to his lips. "Well, I guess it's a good thing you _are_ a pain in the ass, then," he murmured, one by one placing small kisses against the contours of her knuckles. 

Returning her palm to rest back against his heart, Theron left his own lain over it. Even when it'd felt as though they'd had plenty of it in their hands, time was _always_ too scarce for them. But no matter how deceptive time could be, it'd also always been a thing of such phenomenal value. He needed to constantly remind himself never to take it for granted. To make it worthwhile. To make the most of what little of it there'd been.

"...Can I get up now?" 

Lana's quiet, unassuming voice unwittingly coaxed him from the peaceful drift of his thoughts. A delay of pensive silence came before he could answer.

"You know how sometimes, when you sit or lie down a certain way... And it feels really comfortable, and you don't want to move because you know you'll lose that feeling?" he asked her offhandedly. 

Upon a deepened breath, he closed his eyes and released a long, unwinding sigh. "Ten minutes, Lana. Just give me ten more."

Her fingers stirred faintly in his grasp as she briefly pretended to consider this. She'd been familiar with his little ploy. Ten minutes could be just enough for either one of them to fall asleep, and she was certain that had been what he'd hoped for. Of course, she couldn't possibly say 'no,' but there'd been no harm in simply pretending. With her own small, ruminating breath, she responded at last.

"Fine. _Ten_."

Lana could feel every part of him where their bodies touched gradually come to rest. His arm loosened around her shoulders, his breaths grew heavier with every slowed ebb and flow, and it'd felt as though he'd let his weight sink deeper and deeper into the cushions beneath them with every passing second. All the while, her own mind had been all but restless underneath the seemingly motionless exterior. As much as she commanded the patience within her, she'd felt like an anxious child waiting for those ten mere minutes to pass. Careful as to avoid disturbing Theron, she allowed only her eyes to roam about, though there had been little to nothing the darkness of the room revealed to even remotely occupy her roving thoughts. 

_Anything_ to ward away the innermost disquiet. Lana willed with all her being to deny their beckoning intrusion. She refused to permit them within the bounds of this space, reserved _only_ for the two present beings for whom it'd been solely designed. The only other existed beside her, right there within her arms.

Lana closed her heavy lids, numbering a handful of seconds before she peeled them open again in renewal. From where she'd lain, they glimpsed the two folded hands, still left undisturbed over Theron's heart. She smiled as her present thoughts began to amuse themselves in what she could feel beneath her fingertips. Beneath the traces of his healed wound had lied the perfectly animate core of his being, still breathing, still pulsing with the fullest measure of life. 

It'd been like feeling the pull of orchestral strings in their soothing adagio. She would have thought Theron fast asleep by the dozing tempo of his heartbeat, until she felt the barest stirring from his idle thumbstrokes over her small hand, playing the refrain of a silent ode to his slumbering peace. Roughly hewn as they'd been, so disciplined over years of bearing multitudes of arms and weaponry, she'd mused over the idea of those same seasoned hands, instead, bearing an instrument. Neither she nor Theron had been musical, but she'd been inclined to imagine how the uncommon subtlety of his touch would have done at orchestration. Such an enthralling fiction it'd been. 

Music was but only another among many elusive means of connecting with the universe, of finding a voice and a place within it. The Force was not the sole instrument through which the universe moved and spoke, and Lana would believe that even those who'd been seemingly deaf to its chorus, those like _Theron_ , could experience and interpret it all in such ways even she could not conceive. Upon the profound musings her idle mind allowed, she briefly lamented that there would be no way for her to ever truly comprehend.

Lana's astute gaze continued to roam across the silhouette of his hand, tracing the complex shapes and contours that formed each of his fingers. Her eyes followed down the length of his arm. Even relaxed, they could discern beneath the resilience of his skin the sheer potency and vigor stored within his flesh. Her gaze continued still, past the bend of his elbow and along the robust swells of his upper arm that'd been visible in her sights. Upon glimpsing the familiar dash of color etched into the skin of his bicep, Lana's curious scrutiny focused her eyes toward it.

She'd seen this tattoo before. In fact, she'd glimpsed it in every brief, impassioned bout among the nights like these when they'd been in such a haste to be free from the impediment of their attire. Only now, Lana had realized she'd never looked at this tattoo in detail. Upon this second glance, she recognized what appeared to be some stylized print in Aurebesh, cleverly disguised within the motif of its design. Despite her narrowing focus, the lack of lighting had kept the letters indistinguishable within her obscured line of sight.

When her restless curiosity could no longer be contained, Lana stirred in an attempt to have a closer look, unwittingly disturbing Theron's restful leisure as she inched herself over him.

Theron gave a frowned groan once he felt her body drag across his own, bearing her weight down against his chest in seemingly utter disregard. 

"Lana, no... There's still like... _eight_ more to go..." he moaned, making a point of comically exaggerating his displeasure over his forfeited comfort, although there'd been no return now from his broken repose.

Opening his eyes, he glanced down at her, so obliviously lazed over her crossed arms as she'd now settled into herself with her belly pressed across his own. 

"You know, you might be acting like a total kid, but you are _not_ the size of one," he droned with dulling humor. "You need to get off. I'm too old for this."

" _I'm_ older than you," she remarked impassively, wearing a haughty little smile. She turned her gaze to him with a mocking emphasis. " _Young man_."

"Yeah. Whatever you say, you old hag," Theron quipped in a mutter. Catching her momentary, amused little glare, he decidedly held firm behind his bold jest. "What? You heard me. I'm not taking it back."

With an elegant roll of her eyes, Lana gave a dismissive smile and turned her attentions back to her initial point of curiosity.

"What? What are you looking at?"

Without a word, Lana snatched his arm in the clenching grasp of her fingers to still his movements. Now granted a clearer view of the markings, her lips parted as her eyes scanned over its hidden letters, reading them aloud in a halting whisper.

"' _Beautiful day to die_ '...?"

Brushing her fingertips across the dark ink, she mulled over the striking, almost uncharacteristic words immortalized onto Theron's very flesh.

"What's the meaning behind it?" she asked with a thoughtful hum. 

In his brief sigh, Theron revealed a small, plaintive smile, realizing he'd given hardly a single thought to the novel little thing for some years now.

"Yeah, I guess...that one goes a way back."

Lana eased the side of her head against her arms, returning her full attention back to him. "You've had it for a long time, then?"

"...Yeah."

While she'd detected the rather colorless tone of his response, she felt reassurance in finding no indication of any reluctance he'd held toward sharing this story. When she looked for any discernible, telling shifts within his countenance, there'd been none to be found. She then offered a mere smile, supposing it'd been better than glimpsing and seeing something she wouldn't have wanted to find.

"It's a rather bleak message to permanently carry with you until the end of days," she mused blithely. "You never struck me as being so... _saturnine_."

Theron gave an airy laugh. "It was...definitely in the earlier SIS days. I was a lot younger. A bit of a cynic and a lot more of a smartass."

"A cynical little delinquent? _You_?" she teased. 

"I know. Hard to imagine, right?"

Theron's droll smile passed as he delved further within his own reflective thoughts. "You know, being barely a kid...dropped into this line of work, knowing the odds, knowing the risks... I guess it was easier to pretend not to give a shit. Fool yourself into thinking you're not scared if it does happen—if the next day is _**the** _ day."

The more he dwelled on his youthful ruminations in those days past, the more he found it difficult to recognize where the shifts were. When they happened. While he'd been convinced with certainty that these were no longer the empty sentiments that'd kept him in motion, there'd been some indefinable, incomprehensible reason for why he continued to wear these words.

"And I guess it grows on you...or you grow into it—I don't know," Theron shrugged.

Bearing a brightened smile, Lana had been compelled by the dearest intentions of her sweet humor to show—to _prove_ her heartfelt understanding, that he needn't feel so ambivalent of himself. That he, like herself and all others, was allowed his youthful imprudence and recklessness, and that she'd thought no lesser of his character for them. 

"...And then suddenly," she spoke, adding her own whimsical insights to his reflections, "you find that you've become a pathological thrill-seeker... With only some notion of what one _might_ consider 'regard' for self-preservation..." Pressing her lips together, she drew from the inspirations within her mind, continuing to craft the imagery of this feckless youth. 

"Who seems more so driven by the novel, unconscious urge to leave his mark where he goes, rather than by the most sensible anonymity his occupation insists—" Lana paused and soundly revised herself, " _demands_ of him. Because at heart, he is a pure, consummate _deviant_ —an aberration of _unimaginable_ proportions..."

Her teasing smile gained in its humor as she reveled in the sight of Theron's glowing amusement. "A man who, _at best_ , is ill-fitted for employment by Republic SIS."

Tempering his own smile, he returned only a droll little glance in the face of her mordant insights. "Yeah...? You got all that from just one glance, huh?"

"I evaluate the evidence as it presents itself. Do consider," she pointed with a thoughtful gleam, "an SIS agent falling in with a Sith Lord—the effectiveness of his services _must_ be rightly questioned."

His challenging smirk only sharpened. "What if he's just _that_ good? Fool around with a pretty Sith, string her along 'til he gets what he needs..."

"Oh, so he is also a bit of a pyromaniac," she hummed. "Playing with _fire_ —that's a rather hazardous habit."

"Sure...why the hell not," Theron shrugged in a pass of laughter. "He's a punk-kid out to give the world a giant finger."

Peeling her gaze from him, her mind mused over a novel little thought as she steered her sights once again over the details of his tattoo. "So...why not take to the literal and...simply tattoo 'the finger' itself?" she quipped with an innocence even Theron might have believed of her. Lana traced over the nearly incomprehensible script of the words etched within its motif. "It'd certainly read quicker."

Especially in the most unsuspecting moments, he'd met her offhanded remarks with utter skepticism, never quite able to judge whether she'd been earnest in suggesting such an absurd thing. He laughed to himself at the very idea of something so exquisitely asinine.

"Imagine the look on the face of the lucky Imp who finds _that_ dead carcass on the battlefield, huh?"

" _Oh_. Now, if I happened upon such a discovery...I'd think the poor dead agent to have been a very _droll_ man in life," Lana sang blithely.

"Wait." Theron paused in a moment of disapproval. " _You_ get to find me dead?"

"Seems only fair. You'd cravenly stolen my lightsaber and lied to your comrades about the supposed ' _perils_ and _valor_ ' behind your obtaining it," she cleverly revealed within the world of this extravagant fiction. "Remember?"

Of course, the past inventions they'd played at were hardly forgotten in his memory. Theron recalled the stories they'd fabricated between one another in jest. He'd joked often about how he would go about flaunting his ill-begotten prize to his friends and associates, though in truth, he had never held any intention of sharing such a treasure with a single other soul. No one other than himself knew of Master Ngani Zho's lightsaber in his possession. Now that it'd been replaced by that of Lana's, he'd been even more scrupulous about the privacy of his precious memento. 

"So in this version, I die. And you get to live?" he questioned dubiously.

"Well...maybe not." 

Lana's fingers eased away from his arm as she shifted herself, climbing over to lie her body prone against his. Theron gave no protest this time, welcoming the entirety of the warmth and comfort her flesh offered. Despite his humored complaints and melodramatics, it had been a welcome burden to bear her weight like this. She'd habitually done so, nestling herself against him in all manners and forms most inconvenient for him, all while knowing that he never once minded. She'd been so small in his arms, after all. But the course of unspeakable strength, of presence, of _being_ —it had all been seamless in its abounding continuum between them, meeting and coalescing at all points of convergence.

"Maybe...because of _this_..." 

Lana outlined the edges of the other everlasting mark he bore on his being. To her, his scars were not a remnant of his wounds, but a symbol of something far more intrinsic, far more veritable and intimate even to the most arcane senses.

"And _these_..." 

She watched the ease of his smile, won by the delicate regard of her gentle touch as she brushed her fingers over the implants around his left eye. 

"You—the _indomitable_ Agent Theron Shan—manage to narrowly cheat Death yet again," she narrated with such luminous amusement. "And by now...you've made quite the slighted enemy of it."

"Giving _Death_ the finger. I like my moxie," he nodded in his optimistic approval of the story's turn.

"Why, yes," Lana laughed, "Death remains hard on your trail. Leaving you no choice."

"'No choice'...?" He gave her an expectant glance, dissatisfied by her tale's contrived ambiguity.

"To survive, you must seek the aid of the last person you'd turn to."

"Let me guess—a Sith?" he answered dubiously, making a point of sounding entirely absent of any enthusiasm to be had.

"One _particular_ Sith." 

All her whimsical mischief had been betrayed almost entirely by her sweetened pitch and the gaining brilliance of her countenance.

"Oh. _You_."

Theron's monotonous tone of utter displeasure only served to sharpen her smile. "Don't be so dour," she teased.

"Funny hearing that from a _Sith_."

"The _only_ one who wouldn't Force choke the life out of you at first glance, Agent Shan."

"But you gotta admit," he smirked, "I make you _want_ to. Don't I?"

Turning her inquiring gaze to him, Lana narrowed her eyes. "Are we still fictionalizing, here?"

Once Theron sounded in his low, rumbling laughter, he felt her shift to steady herself against his stirring body, having unwittingly disturbed their newly found equilibrium with the impulses of his mirth. As he quelled himself, he relaxed his hand against the small of her back, a familiar place on her being that seemed perfectly shaped to fit it.

"All right. Well, where's this story headed to?" he murmured, eager to see this fiction through to its end.

"I don't know. It's difficult to say." Resting her head back down on its side, she grew quiet again as she withdrew behind the shroud of her pensive consciousness. "It appears to me...the lines have blurred quite a bit, haven't they...?" 

Theron pondered over her rather cryptic words. It would seem that the meaning behind them and her entire discourse had shifted. Tilting his head back deeper into his pillow, he turned his wandering eyes skyward into the pitch black of the darkened room. The only glimmer of light to be found then had been the soft, peripheral glow of the city beyond its single window. 

"Which lines are we talking about, here?" he murmured quietly, kneading his idle fingers into the folds of the covers draped along Lana's waist.

Her delayed responses had been revealing enough. It'd become increasingly clear to Theron that the direction of the story being told had indeed drifted. In the thickening void of her silence, he began to wonder what had suddenly begun to give her reason to hesitate.

"There are _many_ of them, Theron," she finally spoke, though her voice had grown yet even fainter. Within her diminishing volume, there'd been such depth beneath the somber tones. She then peered through the dark in search of his gaze until she'd found it. "But I know you see them, too."

Every notion of humor and amusement shared between them now appeared to have dissipated into the void. His countenance grew sedate as he gave his sobering response.

"All of them."

"...Can you still count them?" Her earnest question came forth in but a hushed whisper.

Considering what she'd truly been asking, Theron found it rather difficult to compose a definitive answer for her. "You're asking me to count all the stars in the sky."

"With patience and with focus...it's _possible_ ," she gently insisted.

Taking her idle musings to heart, he then sought to comprehend her intentions. While he'd known to expect the chords and cadences of their conversations never to remain on a single, static note, the bewildering turns this one had been shown down had left him lost among the dissonance. Without the verity that came with his certainty, Theron didn't quite know how to answer her.

"Well, here's my question," he posed, turning the light upon her instead. "Why would you spend all that time and energy looking at the little details like that?" Everything about him had now been drawn to a near standstill. His voice had been calm and gentle as can be, his hands no longer stirred, and his gazed remained averted, adrift in the trail of his restive thoughts, all set forth in motion by her own doing.

"While you're counting away all those small, bullshit things...you're completely missing the whole scope of it all. It's _all_ the same sky, remember?" He recalled this passing bit of imagery to mind from the earliest of their private conversations shared. It'd seemed so minor then, so inconsequential. Yet only upon this second remembrance of the very idea had he come to realize how momentous the words then had truly been. The empyreal sky and its all-encompassing horizon—it had been the very same now as it had been then. Unchanged. Unaltered. He bid her then, as well, not to lose sight of this lone certainty.

Feeling the softened, rhythmic swells of Lana's breaths against him, Theron realized just how tired she'd begun to grow. Always so furtive, so _conniving_. She'd made such a habit of reticence when it came to her well-being, the one thing Theron had sorely disliked about her mild temperament. By then, she had already lain her head back down to rest against his heart, quite possibly on the verge of slumber, and leaving neither of them even within reach of any answer for the collective questions wrought by their disquieted conscience.

"Lana...?" he whispered delicately into the silence. If she truly had fallen asleep, he would not disturb her any further.

"...Yes, Theron?"

Her breaths indeed had carried within its swells the sound of her consuming fatigue. Just one more question. Because he was most certain to forget if he'd withheld it for another time. It'd been little more beyond a passing curiosity, but it'd rebounded to and fro within his mind time and time again. 

It hadn't been Lana's eyes that struck him in those earliest memories of their encounters, but rather the inherent act of her gaze that had been most striking. The depth of her awareness, her regard. When her eyes acknowledged another, she'd imparted unto her gaze the whole of her sentience. And he'd learned to glimpse beyond their cursory hues to see the being beneath every time.

Yet still, he'd come to ponder what their tones had once been when they'd remained pristinely untouched by the moving universe's influence. Before her sights had been filtered by the spectrum of the Force. Theron's fingers stirred in unconscious strokes along her bare shoulder as the question formed at the very cusp of his breath.

"...What's the _real_ color of your eyes?"

Such a plain and simple question. And she'd never _once_ been asked one much like it in her life. She'd reserved a quiet moment to consider it, finding herself quite unprepared for the impulsive nature of his innocent musings. 

Lana had been slow to rouse, so far within the depths of her own quiet machinations. As she stirred, she inched her hands across the skin of Theron's body, blindly extending her reach forth until she'd found the defining silhouette of his visage. 

His curious little smile curled to tease her fingers as they brushed over his lips. He watched as she finally rose, her gaze tightly hidden away to withhold the totality of her caprice as she crawled closer to meet him at eye-level. Once her sightless hands finished their exploration of his features, they continued on to scour through the locks of his scalp, meticulously disentangling the strands still matted by sweat, now chilled to the touch by the night's still air. Beneath the covers, he felt the whole embrace of her body—her legs fitted around his hips, her breast gently pressed against the flat of his own, her arms wound within one another to a cradle as she settled them into the pillows where Theron lay resting.

He watched as her dampened golden tendrils spilled over her face, impelling his hands to reach for her just as she had. With a gentle touch, he then swept away the loose strands to reveal her wondrous, breathtaking clarity. _Great Force_ , she had been so beautiful to behold in his eyes. And only then by his tender strokes had she been coaxed from the blind darkness to reveal her own in the glory of her shining endearment. Reserved only ever for his eyes to see.

Lana peered into the dark hazel of his gaze, bearing the promise of a secret to be revealed upon her lips. Only, it had never come.

"Can't you tell...?" she whispered to him. A riddle of a question in response to another.

In truth, Lana did not wish to say because even she couldn't quite remember herself its exact shade. She couldn't even recall the last time her eyes had glimpsed their own true colors. So enamored by the amusement of it all, she'd been. Of _course_ , Theron would be the man to confound her so utterly with a question so seemingly inane.

Once asked this, Theron had been compelled to answer symbolically 'yes,' already having seen for himself so many shades beneath the amber. But he'd known just as well that there had always been yet another hue to be discovered in her eyes. Color had been relative to the gaze, after all, and he'd acknowledged that there may never be a definitive answer to reveal. Never with Lana. And he had been perfectly content with that, more so enchanted by the enigma than the prospects of revelation.

Drawing his face into the cradle of her hands, Lana drifted lower towards him until their brows touched. Eyes lulled shut by the silence of the delicate interlude, she softened her palms against his skin with the grace of her gentlest caress.

She had consigned herself to the possibility of never knowing the answer Theron sought, so she'd urged his own pursuits for them. The ability to uncover that which had never meant to be unearthed seemed intrinsic of him. She had witnessed the measure of his uncompromising perseverance, knowing well how ably it had led him thus far across the most dire hardships and uncertainties of his life. The challenge had been hardly anything beyond his means.

Though her own sights had been divinely touched by the Force's grace and guidance, Lana often found within herself the desire to see as he did. To experience the simple clarity that had seemed so effortless of him, when she herself had been convinced of her own inability to glimpse the underlying truth beyond the confounding intricacies. She'd felt at times, that the Force's touch did little more than convolute what should have been but a simple vision to behold. 

If only she could _once_ glimpse through Theron's eyes all the things her own still failed to discern. To view the world as he did, free of the sullying overtones of the Light or the Dark. At the heed of nothing more beyond the heart's purest senses and intuition.

"Tell me," she voiced upon a merest, whispered breath. "When you look, Theron...what do your eyes _see_?"

 

* * *

 

She's committed to her memory each of these times. All those mornings well before the waking hour, when he steals away before she rises. It's become almost routine to expect his unspoken absences. But to _where_ he goes—she has never known. She has long wondered, but at best, all she can gather are the traces of all the small signs she must assemble and decode.

She knows he goes outside, because it is always his hands, his nose, or his lips that are so cold when he returns. He has revealed this to her by every tender kiss and caress given in his morning's welcome. His presence is like ice against her flesh every time he steals back beneath the covers beside her. And he is mindful _not_ to touch her, but only when he remembers—to content himself with settling just beyond the comfort of her embrace until he has regained the warmth to hide the telltale proof of his absence.

She knows he doesn't go far, because he departs in the same clothing worn through the previous night. Never bothering to change, save for the occasional sweater or jacket he appears to take with him to ward away the morning's chill. Despite the seeming void left in his absence, the evidence of his presence always remains. _Always_ , she finds each of his belongings pristinely undisturbed about the room, precisely just as they'd been left. 

She knows he goes to be alone, because not _once_ has he ever taken his comlink with him. He is too disciplined for it to be a simple oversight. In his most incorrigible diligence, he is always prepared and always alert. Yet in each dawn she awakens to his absence, she finds his sole instrument of connection beyond his self-imposed solitude among his forgone accoutrements left behind. For him to have done so could only ever be an entirely conscious choice on his part.

While she has bided her time to translate what the signs mean, she lets him believe her ignorance of them. That she has never awakened to see him gone. Never even gleaned the very notion that he has been anywhere else but _there_. The very same place he has lain within her arms. But it has become habitual of him by now. She has never been disturbed by his leaving, only ever roused thereafter to the hollows of an empty bedspace and a barren room. So she has taken it upon herself to note the signs. To ruminate and assess the details. To make a game of her pursuit. 

As she ascends the flights of steps within the freezing duracrete stairwell, she recalls the very first of these curious mornings. The quickening rush of alarm in her distraught heart. The sinking threat of hysteria at his silent, unheralded absence. 

The solitude. 

The _cold_. 

_Why_ he'd gone in search of it, only to leave her behind in the wake of the unsolicited void—she never could quite interpret. The only certainty she has ever been able to subscribe to is that he has and will _always_ , beyond all remnants of any doubt, return to her. And so by the safeguard of his incontrovertible fidelity, she has learned to relinquish her deepest qualms and pardon him of his unwitting neglect. And because of the insatiable nature of her curiosity, she has also taken to silence toward him of the matter, feigning the same measure of blissful disregard as he.

She has determined to play the observing saboteur, to outwit and subvert him in ways most semblant of his own aptitude. Meaning to uncover his secrecy, to undo his reticence by the simplicity of her presence upon his willing solitude. She would unravel and decipher this puzzle as _he_ would.

Bearing only a modest pair of flats, her steps make almost no sound within the tightened space of the stairwell. The single, insufficient garment from the previous night is all she wears in this earliest hour, offering her little cover against the stagnant, dampened chill of the surrounding air. So she has taken liberties, then, of hauling with her the entire thickness of their shared covers, heavy blankets of the nondescript white, characteristic of the hotel's sterile palette. Clad deep within the plush of their folds, she has taken no heed of the odd, wayward glances turned to her within the long corridor between her room and the stairwell, even relishing in the juvenile thrill of her own unwonted caprice. 

There are no sets of any other dubious eyes watching during her ascent. To ward away the thickening cold, she tugs the folds of the covers tighter around her shoulders. Even now, well into her long trek, she still feels the traces of _his_ warmth lingering where he'd lain within its creases. With every step she climbs, she _knows_ she draws ever closer. 

And _closer_. 

_Closer_. 

Upon reaching the final landing, she makes the last of the strides toward the door at the summit, places her hand against its numbingly cold metallic bar, and pushes.

It opens soundlessly, revealing at the cracks the hazy light of the early dawn beyond. She steps out from the threshold into the slate-hued heights of the somber cityscape, still unawakened, untouched in the absence of the sun. The sudden passing breeze teases her unkempt locks, grazing the bare skin of her face with an arctic touch reminiscent of a certain winter chill.

But it hardly bothers her. Because she has found him. Indeed, he is right there within her sights.

_There_. Waiting. Watching.

Step by painstaking step, she treads like the flow of ice itself across the expanse of the open rooftop. Quiet and patient. The only bare sound to be heard outside of the atmospheric hum is of the dragging corners of her covers in the trail of her heels. But he is too distracted by his own pensive reverie to take notice.

It is only when she drops into the vacant space beside him when he realizes he is not alone. But even as she makes an ungainly display of hoisting the bundled covers over the fixture he is seated at to join him, he doesn't stir. Not until he feels the silken overlay of warmth from her fingers at his neck. 

_Oh yes_ , that playful gesture of hers.

When they tease the tail ends of his hair like so, he is all but powerless against the impulse to smile. And he _knows_ —she waits for him to acknowledge her. He knows if he were to turn, he would find her gaze within his line of sight. He would see the exalted, inviting greeting within her whimsical countenance. Even so, even if he knows all of that, alone, is enough to banish away the touch of the cold morning chill, he is determined not to bend. The pursuit, this time, is _hers_ to make.

"So this is where you run away to."

Lana turned her eyes forward, following Theron's own across the expanse of the cityscape. She was certain that his eyes were looking further even beyond that, but to _where_ —she still hadn't been quite sure.

As she continued to gaze out into the distance as he did, she mirrored, as well, the aloof manner of his disposition. Like a rehearsed meeting, she'd played at the imaginings of how this confrontation would come to pass, but none of the iterations she could conceive seemed even remotely at all consonant with this present moment.

"You can be so inconsiderate, you know," she hummed in her stark humor. "Has the thought ever once occurred to you? That _**I**_ might like to watch the sunrise as well?" With her berating scold came a matching stolid glance. "Not _one_ invitation."

When he at last stirred to meet her gaze, he'd been comforted to see the sweet affection in her humored little smile. Searching for her small form lost beneath the bundles of quilted cloth, he reached his arm around her, drawing her closer against him before directing his gaze forward again.

"Yeah. I'm a pretty shitty boyfriend. Guess you're stuck with that for the long haul."

"And here I was, believing I'd regained some sensibility in my judgment again," she shrugged, her lips thinning in amusement. "You must be the _worst_ of them yet."

"I dunno...maybe you _should_ be handing your job over to Bensyn after all."

"Resign?" Lana beamed, turning to him with a daring glance. " _You_ first."

Theron smiled to himself at the fond little thought. There had even been a small fragment in the deepest recesses of his mind that even briefly considered the very idea, but it'd passed before even given any chance of taking essence.

Settling her head against his shoulder, Lana drew a deep breath. She let her eyes survey the view of the world beyond, stretching to the ends of the horizon. The steely grey shroud above remained unilluminated over the world, like a reflection of the melancholic repose that all beneath it still had not yet fully awakened from. Among the sleeping city, the only sounds to be heard had been but a hum on the breeze, and what light there'd been to be spotted among the grey was only visible in the flickering lamps that dotted the streets and edifices of the world below. Though it had indeed been cold, seated at the center of it all, Lana couldn't deny the inexplicable sense of peace such a place permitted. Although she'd known it had only been but a moment of respite within this transitory world. In cycles, it would all come and just as quickly go. As with all things bound within the universe's motions.

"You don't even know..." she voiced in a hum, faint and somber like all else to be found around them, "how much of a _fright_ you'd given me. The first time I'd woken to find you gone."

When she'd spoken, Theron heard no sting of accusation in her gentle tones. But it'd done nothing to allay the guilt welling within his heart, having never known. He'd never meant to cause her any worry. Surely, he'd had his reasons, but not once had he left in those mornings because of her.

"Without even a word. I'd thought...you might've..." she continued, her voice withering at the very recollection, "you might've suddenly had a change of heart."

Theron would have given her the entire depth of his apology then, if it hadn't been for the assurance of her own consoling presence. Though only a faint whisper to his ears, there were no misgivings he could sense within her voice, and she remained undisturbed, settled and at peace within his hold.

"And then you came back."

For all the wistful despondence her heart recalled from the memory of that morning, Lana's gentle whisper had only gained in its tenderness. The details resurfaced bit by bit, drawing with them the light of her sentiment upon her lips.

"All shivering and frozen over. And you _still_ had the audacity to climb back into bed next to me," she berated him with the full spirit of her affection harbored within. "Your hands were like _ice_. And you do that habitually, you realize?" Such an awful habit of his it'd been, too, knowing how much she hated the cold.

Her lively humor had been enough to diffuse what anxiousness had seized him. In his relief, Theron then released a breath of laughter he'd no longer been able to withhold.

"...So you knew this entire time?" he asked her tentatively, quite taken by her apparent duplicity for having remained silent about the matter for so long.

"Since day one."

"And you just...pretended not to notice."

"It was frighteningly easy."

Theron grew silent, matching her droll look with his very own.

"You little _sneak_..."

Glimpsing the accusatory edge beneath his gaze, Lana's face brightened at the comical irony of his bold tease. The initial shock of her disbelief swiftly subsided, revealing the entirety of her sheer amusement at his ever-daring wit.

"Oh— _I'm_ the sneak? Now _that's_ grand," she nearly scoffed at the heightened pitch of her laughter.

While Theron's lingering reservations had all been quelled by now, there came yet another bothersome matter wearing at his conscience the more he dwelled on it.

"I wake you...?" His voice once again languished at the very thought of how careless he'd been. "Every time? _Shit_ , Lana..." Theron cursed at his own seeming negligence. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"You _never_ wake me," she explained plainly. "That's my point exactly. _Why_?"

When it seemed that he would have no answer for her, she turned to look at him in earnest. As her eyes found his own, they searched for the answers there, only to see within their starkness that his gaze, too, would yield none.

"You make such great effort to come out here. To be away. To be alone. But may the Force forbid anyone from ever _knowing_ what it is you do." 

Lana could only reason so much from what she'd observed of him. For once, she'd found herself staring into a faceless enigma when she looked to him. Surely, this must have been just how he'd felt toward her in the earliest of their encounters. Glimpsing. Looking and observing, and still. _Not_ knowing—yes, it'd been a maddening brand of awareness indeed.

"Even me?"

She waited for his words to come, only to receive nothing but his telling silence. Even in the face of her eternal patience, Theron hesitated, but Lana couldn't tell whether it'd been because of his reluctance or of his own uncertainty.

For as long as it'd take, she would pretend to remain blissfully asleep and ignorant to give him his solitude, but she'd never understood why he required it. The anguish it'd given her—unable to discern what it was he sought that she could not seem to offer him. For all of the forbearing silence he'd given her, Lana wanted nothing more than to hear the words on his breath. To know. To understand. To help him quell what restless doubt and unease had eclipsed his spirit so. Once it'd seemed that even her patience failed to coax the words from him, she decided to then offer her own.

"...May I ask you a question?"

Having turned her eyes back over the cityscape, Theron's faint smile eluded her sights. It'd never failed to draw his amusement, this odd practice of hers. Always _asking_ before asking a question. She'd been courteous to a fault from the very first words he'd ever heard from her lips, and he'd found her to be absolutely, _inhumanly_ endearing for it.

"Yeah?" He'd been careful to temper his tones so as to not reveal the whole of his sentiments entirely. Not until she'd spoken what she'd meant to say.

Upon her reminiscence came the images of a certain distant memory, turning the focus of her gaze aloft. "There was one time, one day when...when we had run into each other. Many months ago." There'd been a particular lightness that carried her voice as she retraced the events vividly in her mind. "It hadn't been an expected encounter by any means. But I...I made some effort to look for you. To meet you."

Though her retelling had been only a vague one at best, Theron searched within his own recollection for the moment in question, unable to quite place it.

"You'd been preoccupied with some business of your own. And you seemed rather lost, actually..."

Glimpsing the distant, confounded look he'd turned toward the world before them, Lana smiled. "You don't remember." 

She pressed her lips together, gleaming with the light of her surfacing mischief. "That day, when I'd finally found you in that darkened little corner..." she mused, recounting the moment as it unfurled from the deepest recesses of her memory. She'd remembered what had passed between them that day, but the words they'd spoken remained elusive until she reached and grasped at the tethers, pulling until they'd been drawn within the bounds of this present moment. 

"...You asked me ' _why are you here?_ '"

_Of course_. How could he have forgotten? Once the words brought the very memory of the encounter into full focus, it hadn't seemed at all so distant then. He'd remembered the desperation—the impossibility of his entanglement, one he had wrought upon himself in its undertaking. And of all possibilities of the universe's own design, _she'd_ been the one to come. His deliverance, as though summoned from the deepest reaches of his entire being's will, had most opportunely descended upon him. The Force's very own gift to his existence.

Theron remembered how he'd questioned her, so uncertain of the vestiges of hope stowed away in his heart even then. How the shroud of his doubt shadowed the very vision, when his heart wanted so to be certain she'd been true. He dared not dwell or whisper of his reluctant fortunes, yet the recurring thoughts lingered and bore deep into his conscience in the days that followed, refusing to release their possession of him once they'd taken root. And it would be with every successive encounter to be had with Lana Beniko that they would continue to flourish in fuller incarnations. He could almost laugh at himself for his own faithlessness then. When now, he would loudly declare to the universe his fealty like a fevered zealot—the unwavering, unquestionable devotion in his heart reserved solely and entirely for her.

"A _curious_ thing...how you always ask me questions I can't answer. Why am I here? Why am I _here_...?"

The song of her voice drifted into silence. Such a simple, benign question. Yet the mark left in its wake stirred him so. As though drawn by a gentlest invitation, his eyes turned until they found hers. How sweet they'd been. So patient in their waiting gaze. The only thing to shine even brighter had been the reticent little smile glistening upon her lips.

"...Why do you ask me, Theron, when you already _know_?"

_Of course_ he'd known. He would not test her like so if he hadn't. He would ask her questions she couldn't answer, so she would counter them with ones of her own. She'd always tried to be clever in these ways. To consider the steps ahead, to keep him on his toes, but he'd always seen through her gambit with such little effort. He may require time to articulate the truth that lied in his heart, but there was no doubt in hers that he had known.

Like a rhetoric upon the Force's own divine voice, the first rays of the dawn's light climbed the far horizon to illuminate their world. The light drew their sights, outshining, but never overshadowing the rest before them. Light, by nature, only illuminated. And while the smaller flickers dotting the world below had all been drowned out by the shining dawn, their remaining luminous presence were far from extinguished, continuing to glow in resonance with the collective masterpiece.

How convenient that the Force would opt to answer for them both—proof that there'd been no need for words. Two witnesses within its presence, they sat hand in hand. Their entwined fingers had become a familiar gesture now. A physical act of their unity, their bound existence. Whenever Lana found herself adrift, her single certainty had been Theron's hand within her own. She'd known it would never leave her grasp, always remaining. Always the safeguard to keep her from ever falling or faltering, just like her own kept well placed within his. And to him, it'd been a constant reminder. That her very own presence would ensure that he would never forget his heart. That it would remain there in his hands, an inseparable part of his being no matter what depths he'd journeyed beyond.

"So...I believe that puts me at a disadvantage," Lana mused, nestling her head against his shoulder. "I don't know why _you're_ here."

As they continued to marvel at the expanse of the glowing horizon, the moment's peaceful reprieve permitted Theron the liberty to consider the deeper thoughts he could not voice. His eyes continued to trace its shape, its edge, its distance, inspiring enough within him to give form to his words. Or at least enough for him to speak. The meanings would come with the words in due time, his thoughts held out. What he had to do first was simply _speak_.

"The horizon," he murmured aloud, "it isn't a _thing_. At least, not a tangible sort of thing." Theron was unsure of where the words would lead, hardly pacing half a step behind them before they'd been carried off along the swells of his breath. 

"It's not a place you could ever get to. More like a reference point than anything. It marks a boundary. Not one you can reach, but one that's always within sight. Like a way to put things in perspective...and remind you that there's still more further ahead. More beyond. That infinity _does_ exist."

Lana remained still for him. Just as he'd given her his time and his patience to speak her most incomprehensible thoughts many times before, she would do the same for him. Her fingers tightened around his hand as she settled herself at perfect ease into the crook of his arm, a silent measure of comfort to bid his words to come.

"I guess...that's why I like to be here. Sitting in front of the horizon. You know...even with all that training, I've never felt the compelling need to clear my mind or...set it straight or any of that stuff the Jedi are always looking to do. The idea of 'transcendence.' ' _Enlightenment_.' It just...never really clicked for me, I guess."

Theron drew a breath, focusing his eyes once again at the vision before them.

"I need something I can _see_. Something that's right in front of me, you know? The 'idea' of something—it just...it never seems enough without something concrete behind it. Something _real_ to see and reach for.

"So _this_ is something. Seeing and knowing that there's _that_ in front of me. _That's_ everything else beyond just me." Without a thought, he swallowed, tightening his arm around her as he drew her closer. His voice grew quieter with his following words.

"Sometimes I think I forget that. The big picture. All the things beyond our little personal worlds. And...I guess reminders like this are a nice indulgence, you know? So I don't dwell on the stupid little things. Avoid the self-inflicted misery if I can help it."

The gentle hum of his amusement against the somber words drew a faint smile back to Lana's lips. Humor always seemed so much more precious in the face of despondence. How admirable it all seemed to her now—this perpetual pursuit of his for clarity. She would dare to confess, if she'd had any heart to, how she'd even envied him so for having come this far. When she'd thought only to chase after him while he chased the horizon within plain sight. When he'd sought to go beyond while she'd merely taken care not to be left behind.

Hearing no discernible response from her, Theron grew restless. When it'd been in the company of his own reflective thoughts, the silence never bothered him. But he'd known that such passages shared in the moments spent with Lana only ever revealed the seemingly unspoken sadnesses between them. For all the words they could wile away the time speaking, there'd been just as many he knew she had been wary to even whisper. Even he had not been entirely guiltless of harboring such inward doubts. Though it would seem, just as she had demonstrated, _these_ words had shown to be much easier to speak when bid to by the voice of another. There was no reason for reticence when they sat side by side, hands entwined with only the birthing glory of the Force to bear witness. They would find no judgment within one another. No more so than they would within the encompassing folds of the Force's divine providence.

To think that it'd been _she_ who had held such concern for him. When he has glimpsed her melancholy, witnessed her weep and lament at the foot of the rueful ruminations that would never quite leave her conscience in peace. So he would ask her. Because it was all he knew to do for her.

"Are you happy, Lana?"

The appropriate words only came after a moment's consideration. Her smile paled upon the descending thoughts as she searched for the only answer she could believe was true.

"In what regard...?" she murmured in a thin voice. "' _Happy_ '...here, seated within...the cradle of the horizon of a new day's birth...in the warmth of its light..." Her words came haltingly as each piece of the vision's image slowly illuminated one by one. 

"...With all the rest of the crumbling world safely behind its borderlines..." 

Lana closed her eyes to the brimming dawn before them. As though the covers around her had become insufficient against what lasting shred of cold had been left in its wake, she eased herself deeper into the warmth of Theron's hold.

"...Just far away enough out of reach. Out of _sight_..."

The cadences between each somber verse she'd recited only grew more lachrymose with every plain utterance spoken. How despairingly familiar her tones had been—yet another iteration of the resurgent grief he'd glimpsed of her from the previous night. He always suspected the disguise of her smiles and her laughter. They'd done so little beyond obscuring what lingering remorse remained in her heart, and he imagined she could hardly have even known.

He felt the stirring of her plaintive breaths as her hands tightened in their grasp, as though she'd meant to seek consolation within him from her very own words.

"...With _you_."

The whisper of her voice drew his gaze back to her. In the luminescent shower of the waking sun's beams, he could see that the smile she'd shown then had been true.

"Then _yes_ , Theron. I am happy."

When she felt the soft brush of his lips against her crown, Lana's renewed eyes at last opened once again. The hum of his affectionate laughter quelled her fluttering heart as he trailed his hand along her face, tucking her closer into his hold. In her brimming amusement, she joined him in quiet laughter, loosening the heavy covers that separated them before tossing the folds over his shoulder. She squirmed to find his frame beneath the quilted blankets, wrapping him in her arms while he tugged the shared folds tighter around them. Fitted perfectly within each other's hold, their playful whirl of giggles subsided with the brisk rush of the morning air, hardly a bother against the thick of their protective covers.

Lana shook away the stray tangles blown across her face, growing pensive yet again in the trace of her reflective thoughts.

"Day by day, it seems...the tasks expected of the Minister of Intelligence diverge more so from the responsibilities the title originally entailed," she mused aloud.

"It's barely been a year since the appointment, and you're burning out already, Beniko...?" Theron droned in his wry tease. He smiled at her brightening humor once he caught the pitch of her demure laughter. With a playful touch, he locked his arms around her, drawing her face deeper into the plush of the covers as he buried his nose into her golden tangles.

"They can stick you behind a desk pushing data for all I care," he mumbled to her, "as long as it keeps you out of the fray."

In spite of the well-intentioned jest beneath his words, Theron had been quietly glad to know that she had seen less field work in the passing months. Not once in the days past had he been bothered by such concerns for himself, or any other he'd thought capable of contending against these expected dangers. Until now, when the simple idea of her amidst the volatile situations they'd all endured before would bear enough weight to unsettle his conscience in ways he could not quell.

Lana peeled her head from beneath his chin and looked at him sourly. "That sounds _so_ dreadful," she remarked with utter distate.

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you actually _liked_ field ops."

Thoughtfully lowering her gaze, she smiled to herself in contemplation of his harmless little quip. "I can't imagine any _sane_ person that does."

It'd have been just as preposterous to ask her if she'd taken any liking to the sentiment of war and conflict. If she'd liked being an Imperial. If she'd liked being a _Sith_. Never had she thought to separate what she was from what she'd _wanted_ to be. There had never been such a luxury of choice. She'd only ever known to do what needed to be done. What had been expected. What had been necessary.

Though it was not to say that she had never been in control of her own choices. _Yes_. It had been her choice to come under Darth Arkous' tutelage. To seek answers on Manaan, on Rakata Prime, Rishi, Yavin 4. It'd been entirely her choice to accept her appointment by Darth Marr. But how could one have ever declined the higher roads upon such crossings? All the seeming things one could only deem to be fortunes? The Force's providence? The _design_ by its very own making? One could only ponder upon the bounds that separated freedom of will from the mere perception of it. At what point had one crossed its threshold into the guiding hands of the almighty presence?

Again—the unremitting questions. The uncertainty.

_Oh_ , but there had been a single unquestionable element—the enduring, recurrent constant present at the end of every choice she'd made before each crossroad passed.

_Of course_. 

She'd been trailing along the last chosen path, now coming upon yet another one of its offered, idle sojourns. And to find what? To find _whom_?

_You. Always you. No matter what I do or say. All things_ always _seem to bring me right back to you. And there you go again, giving me any reason to question everything I know—_ oh, _such an ordeal you've exacted upon me...so thoughtlessly, infuriatingly blissful in your mind's abysmally unwitting absence. The endearing, consummate fool that you are...I am only every bit as much one—no, even worse—for being so hopelessly taken by every face of your delighted bemusement._

"Do _you_...?" she asked unassumingly in return, steering the question of the matter back around on him.

One truth for another. Theron smiled at the amusing little thought. How so many of their conversations ended up to be a simple trade of answers for exchanged questions. Even in the beginning, it had been this way, and it would seem that they would not yet grow out of such hard-broken habits.

"I guess...there was a time when I could probably honestly say I did." He turned the focus of his gaze back to the warming colors of the gleaming horizon as he considered his thoughts in earnest. "But shit gets old, you know?"

Lana's eyes watched him curiously before joining his in marvel of the farthest cosmic bounds their sights could reach.

"I'm surprised." Her plain remark had been a truthful one, but it had been a profound relief to hear his own. Between them both, there had been too many of such encounters to number, but she could never envision herself finding peace with his contentment with such a life. When she herself had been prepared to forgo it the instant its necessity ceased.

"Knowing you..." she mused with the light of a brewing jest in her tones, recalling more vividly than she cared to, his careless tenacity, his seeming lack of caution for self-preservation, every damning habit of his that had ever come close to stopping her heart entirely, committed without the merest shred of a qualm—oh, how _infuriating_ a man he'd been to mind!

Lana pressed her lips together with reluctant fondness for all the exasperating sentiments she could not find within her heart to spurn. "I would even dare say that it seems like what you were born to do."

There'd been much to glean from her elusive tones, and Theron simply couldn't resist the draw of his snide laughter. "Probably. Beats the Jedi life, I guess," he shrugged. "Always used to think I got the short end of the stick there. But, nah...I'm pretty glad that never panned out." The comical thought inspired another airy snicker from him as he shook his head. "Best disappointment of my life."

When the vast majority of his half of the galaxy would pay the Jedi and their order such esteem, it would be their grand master's own son who'd held just as much in his stubborn, unapologetic disregard for them. This brilliant sample of irony never failed to spark her greatest amusement, once again finding herself rolling in a fit of her uncontained, torrential laughter.

"Don't _even_ ," he quipped, narrowing his eyes at her. "Get over yourself. That includes Sith, too. The damn Force knows I wouldn't _ever_ wish that crappy existence on myself."

Theron's cheeky sarcasm did as entirely intended. He grinned in her face, glimpsing the exaggerated look of offense he'd won from it. 

" _Excuse_ you, Agent Shan." With a scoff, Lana shook her head as her taut lips thinned in a poorly veiled attempt to subdue her urge to smile. "There it is again—all your _vicious_ verbal assaults." In her calculated gesture of displeasure, she turned away from him. "Why do I do this to myself? It is an _abuse_ to endure your presence..."

"Shitty judgment...shitty boyfriend—all that stuff, remember?" he blithely reminded her with a small nudge of the elbow beneath the blankets.

With her resolve to resist completely undone, she gave a sputtering laugh. Caught somewhere between a smile and a frown, she could only bear to manage a strained, passing glance at him.

"I should _leave_ you," she wryly declared, staring him down before peeling her imperious gaze away, back toward the expanse ahead. "While I still have my wits about me," she added in an aching mutter.

"Run for the hills while you still can, Beniko."

"I'm sure _Agent Balkar_ would have a mind to treat me better," Lana playfully mused in jest, pursing her lips in a thoughtful curl upon her wistful lament. "I might just make a certain request to Director Trant. If only I could take back those months...tell my younger, foolish self to listen to that wise man's warnings about _you_."

"So I _am_ rubbing off on you. You know, it starts with not giving any craps about what authority has to say," he devilishly asserted. "Anyway, have fun with that. You're not getting a damn thing done with Balkar's lazy ass hanging around bugging you for a round of beer pong and strip pazaak the minute he starts getting bored. Which is _all_ the time."

In a pretentious display, Lana threw her head back with a grand, ostentatious laugh. " _My_ , what a darling thought that is."

The pleasantry in her pitch betrayed no trace of distaste he'd have expected of her, completely wiping the smug grin he'd worn clear from his face.

"You and Agent Balkar—playing strip pazaak...?" she suggested gratuitously. After all, how could he have possibly known unless he'd experienced it himself, her inner fancies jested. Meeting Theron's look of thorough unamusement, she beamed with a most devious spark of a smile. "Now... _that_ sounds like a game to watch."

"Yeah. Hope you make yourself really comfortable with endless, uninspired dirty jokes and the occasional, very sober, _very_ pervy, and blatantly undisguised innuendos," he quipped in a seamless retort.

"Oh, no. He wouldn't. Agent Balkar treats me like a _queen_ ," Lana playfully insisted with utter dismissal of the idea. "And he is only but an acquaintance. Unlike _you_. You should learn from his example."

Theron rolled his eyes in disbelief. Having been a private witness himself to the lowest degrees of his friend's depravity, he'd been repulsed by the very suggestion. "You gotta be fucking kidding me..." he mumbled to himself. Pressing his lips together, he turned her a wry look. "You looking for an upgrade, here? I'll even throw in a letter of recommendation, if you want."

Delighting in the satisfaction that she'd given him enough insult, Lana muffled her giggles into the folds of the blanket. Feeling his attempt to strongarm her into submission like their familiar bedroom scuffles, the pitch of her climbing laughter swelled in a stifled squeal within the covers as he smothered her in his hold.

"I oughta chuck your ass off this building."

"And single-handedly reignite the Galactic War with the underhanded murder of a peace-keeping Imperial minister?" she challenged, squirming against his strangling embrace.

"All worth it."

Joining in her laughter, Theron continued to ungracefully drag her from her feet, locking her arms down within his own.

"You _wouldn't_..." she murmured in giggles, burying her face into his chest as she shook her head.

"That a _dare_?" he countered with a smirk, moving to tighten the loosening covers around them. Only when she'd finally settled down, resigning in her vain attempts to continue resisting, did he gently ease his arms' embrace around her.

"So, what?" he murmured, teasing her with another brush of the lips to her head. "You want me to start doing that?"

Unsure of his meaning, she sounded in a puzzled hum.

"You want me to start treating you like a queen? Is that it?"

Her following laughter came softly, still muffled against his chest. Theron then felt her head stir in a nod as she gave another of her indiscernible responses.

"You know...Commander was right," he mused, recalling a certain little memory from the previous night. "You damn Imps do ask for a lot when you want something."

Letting her eyes relax shut, Lana shifted to free herself from their awkward entanglement. She lifted her feet from the ground, drawing her knees up against herself as she curled comfortably into his frame. She then shook her head free of the smothering blanket folds to lie in repose back down against his shoulder.

"We're nothing if not demanding," she played on his remark, remembering the words of his goading teases as they'd lain together in bed the night before, "when a certain _expectation_ is to be upheld."

"You're such a freaking princess, you know?"

A playful murmur to her ears. If such a part were tasked to her, he would gladly play her knight, then. Though upon a second thought given to the little fiction, he realized that they'd seemed very much more semblant to a princess and her jester over anything. A droll thought, one he'd considered fondly. There was no rule or reason against a story about a princess and her beloved jester. Or a jester who had also played the hero. Knights were so austere, so straight-laced, so _boring_ , and Theron had already wholeheartedly admitted he would never have wanted to be one. And with certainty, he knew that Lana was no princess in need of _any_ knight. 

Such a pair—and what a story they would have made had they simply been born in another time, another era. Perhaps in some other universe. Who ever deemed that there existed only _one_? A conversation for the next night, Theron mused with a smile.

He'd only begun to realize how cold he had been from before, noting how much warmer it had gotten beneath their shared blankets. It'd come as no wonder how Lana had gleaned his absences in prior mornings now. Taking the liberty to bask in their present comforts, he pressed his head down against her own.

"...A pain-in-the-ass _princess_."

'Princess.' Lana could remember the earliest years of her childhood when her Papa had called her that. She remembered what the word meant to a little girl. How it'd made her feel to be regarded as one so affectionately. And how the romance had gone with the experience of her years. Princesses were not princesses. Knights were not knights. The words all held far more beneath them than a child could ever comprehend, and she had no longer been one for some time now.

_Princesses...even queens must bear the burden of an entire realm._

And Lana had taken the task solely upon herself. Still. She'd _hardly_ been any princess.

"I only wish," she voiced tentatively against the passing silence, "that the rest of the world could somehow share in this—just some... _small_ measure of peace."

Pausing, she recalled to mind the solicitous questions Theron had asked her in the previous night. All ones she'd evaded and left unanswered. Her reasons had been deliberate then, but now grew to seem ill-considered and inconsequential.

"Since you'd asked," she willed herself to respond, "things have been rather...discouraging."

Theron did not need to guess at what it was she'd meant. His countenance grew sedate as he turned his eyes forward across the world before them. He searched for her hand beneath the covers, taking it into hold as he trailed his thumb in strokes across the delicate contours he'd come to memorize so well.

"Yet another conference that had not come to any satisfactory settlements. Between a governing body criticized for its inability to protect its citizens, and another which accuses it of war-mongering."

There'd been a time when Theron would ask which side had been which that she'd referred to. Now, he'd been wiser to know that it didn't matter anymore. It'd been _all_ of them. One always wronged another, and in more ways than just one. Each felt itself justified, when truly, none of them ever were. But mistakes were fatal, and there hadn't been a single power that dared to accept accountability for any. There'd been innumerable faults that both Empire and Republic alike exonerated themselves of. No blame left to give or receive. And an angry, broken galaxy between them to make amends to.

"The insurgents just don't understand," Theron voiced in commiseration.

"They are _dissatisfied_. When, for decades, there had been opulent promises of wealth and glory through conquest, the wars have come to yield _nothing_. Nothing but destroyed homes and displaced peoples." 

Lana's rueful tones revealed the fatigue buried at its heart. While he'd been assigned many tasks that brought him to accompany her in duty, Theron had been fortunate to seldom ever find himself shouldering the burden of mediation between sides as she all too often had. He'd understood the difficulties profoundly, but in spite of all his deepest sympathies, even he held doubts as to how much relief he could truly ever offer her.

"A perpetual stalemate of...commensurate misery and squalor— _that_ has been our gain. That is what we have to show for all our vanity. And it is the guiltless who have paid most heavily for it."

As the flood of restless thoughts began to spill from the bounds of her conscience, the words now could not stop. How she'd miscalculated—to have thought that bearing their weight would have been the means to quelling them, when it had been in their release that she would find any reprieve. Surely, she should have known better.

"' _Understanding_.' Everyone I am tasked to speak to—they accuse me of lacking it. But I _do_ understand, Theron. They are angry. They are disaffected. I desire for them to simply _stop_ because their actions and intentions will do good for _no one_. But I _understand_."

She paused in silence once again with only a breath to regain her bearings.

"The Council asks—why have the uprisings not yet been put down? So I ask—with _what_ army? Who is there to repel anarchy? Who is there to enforce order and punish lawlessness? The years of decadent spending and squandered resources... What remains has been exhausted. Nearing its reaches. And they _hate_ it, Theron. They _hate_ that they must defer to the Republic for aid. They are wounded, and they bleed. But they now understand—to _some_ measure, at least—there is no worth in pride in the face of oblivion."

In spite of herself and her own grievances, Lana released an embittering trickle of a laugh. She cast her gaze low with a mournful shake of the head. 

"And it does hurt," she uttered quietly. "But once the vanity has gone...it is rather liberating." 

Just as the scars born on their own bodies had been. There was no chance she could see for their colliding worlds to continue forth if they remained unwilling to acknowledge their mortal weaknesses. To seek strength and solidarity within vulnerability. To find coexistence amongst one another and all else found in between—that had been the revelation Lana had wished so dearly for the world to understand. If a single, inconsequential individual like herself, like Theron, could come to realize a thing so simple, so _clear_...why had it been so nearly impossible for the rest even greater and beyond them to see?

Because it was difficult.

_'Difficult'?_

How laughable. What worthwhile thing in all the universe had ever been easily gained? And for a Sith like herself—risk and difficulty ever only held but the barest of meaning.

"I _know_ ," Lana spoke again at last. "Peace can't be forced. It can't be imposed upon those who are unwilling." 

She'd known all too well. It mattered not how much had been desired of it, how profitable and valuable it was. It would be impossible to obtain if there remained those who resisted it.

"But it can be encouraged. With the right words. With the right actions..."

With a clear breath, she raised her gaze to turn her sights forward once again. Now that she'd known what it was that Theron's eyes sought when they looked to the distance, she willed herself to follow in the same direction.

"It's _all_ of our faults. _We_ started this war. We perpetuated it. We let this happen. The _least_ we can do...is make reparations."

While Theron held no shred of contention against all that Lana had declared, he'd known that there had been others who would not be so easily persuaded. He recalled the hardened sentiments his own father shared just the previous night, along with the multitude of others over the course of his life they had echoed.

"Not everyone agrees," his brittle voice starkly reminded her, though the words were not meant to dash her faith by any means.

"And it is a _shame_."

In her returning humor, Lana gently laughed at a small, passing amusement. "Listen to me—saying all these things. Pretending... _wanting_ to be a good, just person." 

With a sparse little smile, she intended to simply laugh it all away, realizing just how downtrodden the start of the new day had become. She hadn't meant to drown it all beneath her woeful talk, but such matters had always found convenient ways to inconvenience even those meant to be among their most leisured moments shared.

"' _Wanting_ '... I don't think it's ever enough to simply _want_ , is it?" she mused with a tender hum.

However scarcely the matter of it ever arose, Theron always found himself stricken to hear the dispirited regard she'd given toward herself. They'd always served as a stark reminder of all the untelling things he could still manage to overlook, all the reasons why he could never cease to keep vigilant.

_You_ are _a good person. I don't know why you dismiss yourself. Why you put yourself down and undervalue everything you do._

"Last night..." Theron's fingers stopped stirring against her own once the focus of his sight narrowed against the distance. "You asked me...what was it that my eyes see?"

He turned to her, his gaze pure and genuine. Unhindered. Unclouded. Looking to her, he read the sweet and eager anticipation in her countenance, the withheld smile behind her stirring lips, the depths found within her own eyes returning his gaze. This had been the picture he'd sought, the entirety of what was now, what was pertinent, what was important. He'd understood the nature of her question last night, but he'd simply lacked the clarity to answer her then. 

And now, seated before the light of the horizon, there'd been nothing to obstruct his view or halt his words. There'd been no such thing as doubt or uncertainty. All that lied within his line of sight had been _true_.

"You."

Theron's simple response had been enough to suspend her breath upon her parting lips.

"I see you. Looking right back at me."

Twenty-seven years ago, Theron's first marks within the universe had been drawn. And Lana, twenty-nine. Both born amidst a war, only to grow up to fight in another. Though, in essence, it had been the very same. Merely one grand, articulate stage, designed to place them in perfect symmetry at opposite ends. One that moved and played along its predetermined motions until the two met at its center, where their actions, their words, their very meeting—hardly a thing of chance—would draw the pageant to its inevitable culmination of all happenings before and until that very point. 

And just who had this entire spectacle been meant for? To _whom_ had this design held any significance? In the solitude of his self-exile, Theron found much idle time to ponder this. More than he'd thought could ever have been allotted for him. How he considered the ironic misfortune, the mistiming, the _misjudgment_. Yes—how Theron had misjudged the scope of it all. How he'd misjudged himself. Misjudged _her_. 

But in his mind's most pensive reaches, he'd kept count of his good fortune. Time and again, the steps retraced by his heart led him to remember the fortunes which others had lived their lives deprived of. The fortunes that ones like his _parents_ did not have. To have been permitted to feel the sorrows that they had so little time for. To have been given the reprieve of the comfort—of the _happiness_ inexplicably bound to its opposite—made to always know and realize that this had been the other side of heartache worth suffering for. 

To know such a certainty had been entirely different from _experiencing_ it. Theron often found the need to remind himself that they, like _many_ , had lacked the fortune of its prolonged grace, their faith and their will tested so relentlessly through the universe's denial of their long-awaited deliverance. A small pardon that he was sure still had not been granted. It would be upon such bare thoughts that he'd found the vestiges of sympathy within himself for them. He pitied them. He refused to suffer like them. He wished _never_ to become like them.

How the stories came now. So freely, so easily. Theron remembered when he could not speak a word of his heart as a youth, not even to the ears of those held dearest to it. Now, they came daily. They came nightly. They came forth with all the endearments and treasured fondness to be given and received between himself and the single other his lines had become entwined with. In retrospect, he had never been quite sure how the stories came to them—seemingly always having been in existence, or so his heart compelled him to believe. 

They'd become _full_ with stories. They shared them seamlessly between one another, and more and more, it'd become less discernible where one ended and the next began. There'd been no way to tell. He couldn't even say with certainty who's story it'd been to begin with. 

_Both._

It'd been _theirs_ to tell. _Theirs_ to compose and carry on as they willed. Surely, they'd even been amidst one still unfolding with every passing moment shared between them.

Moments like _now_ —where he found himself seated in the cradle of the universe's horizon, basking in its vast, far-reaching splendor. In its luminous cradle, he could look to _her_ and really see her eyes. Her being. Her heart. Those had all been the colors and shades he'd always seen. Theron _knew_ the real color of her eyes. He knew what color they'd been when she brought her small hands to his face and smiled and told him she loved him. What color they'd been when she cried for all the ailments bearing down on the rest of the world that those same two small hands could not relieve. Each and every one of those hues had been entirely hers, and his eyes had witnessed them all.

Blanketed in the warming, newborn rays of the dawning horizon, they'd shared the primordial center within the bounds of their world, their existence. Here, where they'd come to find one another as paired witnesses to the illuminated bounds of its infinite frontier. Infinite paths. Infinite possibilities. Never had their destination held any concern to their existence. What had been pertinent was the present. That within one another, they'd found their cradle. This had been their place of belonging. Their place of refuge. Of freedom. Of _love_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knoww...I keep saying it but I'm sorry for being late with this one again! :( I really underestimated how unsatisfactory the first draft of this second part had been... *SIIGH* So I did spend a lot of time trying to iron things out...I'm not even sure that the finished thing is even all that much of an improvement...bleh. I'll admit, some passages here and there did give me trouble, and I honestly don't know for the life of me why. So I do apologize for any...strange or funky-sounding paragraphs or lines. x_x Brain is failing at life...aagh! (On that mention—forgiveness for any unseemly typos and errors of the like...)
> 
> Well, and as I've learned, I'm like...totally no good at love scenes. ._. I'll read 'em, I'll even read smut, hahaha! ;D But I...definitely found it challenging to get my own brain in a place to try and write them. Like, finding that balance where you want to keep the sense of intimacy and romance without going all cheesy corn or treading into the realm of OOC-ness, lol. I pray this attempt was a success...!
> 
> Also, I had a sense that I might've prolonged the entire scene of this one night's encounter between them a liiittle... But I kind of had that naggy feeling that any omissions would have taken away a bit from the natural shifts and turns that might happen in any "mundane" conversation between them. I don't know, maybe it's just me, but it just didn't seem to do them much justice to rush the intimacy in any way, lol. I know it's not everyone's cup o' tea (especially in a sci-fi-esque type of story— _whuuut_??), but I think I tend to like a bit of that 'slice of life' kind of narrative...I think especially with the romances...ANYWAY.
> 
> Also! I really had a lot of fun thinking more about the small things, like the mindless words and quips, or the seemingly dumb little gestures between them. And to also try and fit in the nuances of their personalities and thoughts too. That was a lot to juggle, lol. I feel like we couldn't forget about their sense of playfulness and humor, especially toward each other, even when there were more serious matters lingering in the backs of their minds. Sometimes, I feel like that gets a teensy bit lost in the characterization of some portrayals of Theron and (especially) Lana—heck, even in the game at parts! Well in any case, I do hope the pacing of it didn't feel too slow or tedious, and that it was at the very least some fun to read! ^_^;
> 
> Soo...I'll be back! I swear! At some undetermined point in some probably not-too-soon future, I will come bearing more updates!! :|
> 
> And once again, thank you everyone who has left comments or kudos! ^_^ You guys are the best!!


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